


Oh my word!

by Nival_Vixen



Series: Short & sweet tumblr-weed [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of season 3b, Agent Derek, Agent Stiles, Alpha Derek, Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha Stiles, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angry Stiles, Annoyed Derek, Annoying Stiles, Asshole Scott, Attempt at Humor, Band Fic, Based on a Tumblr Post, Beta Derek, Beta Scott, Breaking and Entering, Bromance, Children, Clumsy Stiles, College Student Stiles, Companionable Snark, Cooking, Creepy Stiles, Dad Derek Hale, Dad Stiles Stilinski, Dancing, Dark Derek, Dark Stiles, Declarations Of Love, Derek Hale is a Softie, Derek Has Feelings, Derek Has Issues, Derek Likes Stiles, Derek Loves Stiles, Derek Takes Care Of Stiles, Derek and Stiles Being Idiots, Derek and Stiles are Dorks, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Derek gets a pet, Derek is a Good Alpha, Derek is hungover, Derek is the King of Stiles' Board, Derek's Eyebrows, Dogs, Domestic Derek and Stiles, Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, Drunk Stiles, Drunk propositioning, Drunkenness, Each chapter is its own story, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, English, English language is insane, Epic Bromance, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Even find Derek for him, Everybody Lives, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Is Alive, Explicit Language, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Family Fluff, Fanboys - Freeform, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Fatherhood, Fluff, Food, Forgetful Derek, Future Fic, Gardener Stiles, Gardens & Gardening, Hangover, Human Alpha Stiles, Human Derek Hale, Hurt Stiles, Idiots in Love, Just in general, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Malia will do anything for Stiles, Married Life, Matchmaker Lydia, Minor Stiles Stilinksi/Malia Tate, Moving In Together, Mysterious Deaton, No one knows what Stiles is, Nogitsune Trauma, Oblivious Derek, Oblivious Scott, Past Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate, People are annoying, Peter Has Issues, Pets, Plants, Post Hale Fire, Pre-Derek Hale/Stiles, Pre-Relationship, Puppy Scott, Radio Host Derek, Returning Home, Sassy Lydia, Sassy Peter, Sassy Stiles, Sheriff Stilinski Knows, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Singer Stiles, Smart Derek, Snark, Spark Stiles, Stiles Cooks, Stiles Likes Derek, Stiles Loves Derek, Stiles Stilinski Is Bad At Feelings, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Pack, Stiles Stilinski is a Tease, Stiles being Stiles, Stiles is Stiles, Stiles is trying to get a date, Stiles moves in with Derek, Stiles worries his father, Stilesness, Surprises, Teacher Stiles, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Torture, Underwear Kink, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, Witch Curses, Women's Underwear, Work In Progress, Writer Stiles, word of the day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-21 15:21:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 27,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1555055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nival_Vixen/pseuds/Nival_Vixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Responses to Tumblr's word of the day challenge. (See tags for an idea of the responses)</p><p>Stiles/Derek mainly, or centric on Teen Wolf characters. The fics in here are under 1000 words, the rest in the series are 1000+<br/>Capping the fic at 50 chapters</p><p>...</p><p>Words: effloresce, sally, scintillate, coterie, wanderlust, caprine, zephyr, vane, tarantism, abecedarian, indelible, meliorism, hokum, xyst, braggart, gnomist, embroil, sparge, prate, foray, ambulant, beget, gallinipper, flak, epithalamion, garboil, peckish, blithesome, clement, rident, estivate, shoat, hypocorism, writhen, hemidemisemiquaver, lambent, camelopard, juvenescent, quickhatch, hierogram, technophobia</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Effloresce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a demon flower from Hell in the forest. Scott and Stiles should probably leave it alone. They don't.

"So this thing is..."

"A demon flower from Hell? Yeah, pretty much," Stiles said, sighing and shrugging at the slow-blossoming flower.

"I was going to say efflorescent," Scott admitted.

"Word of the day toilet paper?" Stiles asked, grinning slightly.

"Yeah. Hey, don't look at me like that, I've got to study where I can!" Scott said, glaring at him half-heartedly while Stiles just laughed in response.

The demon flower kept blossoming and then it started spreading pollen everywhere, making Scott sneeze loudly. He figured it was an automatic response since none of the pollen was actually moving towards him, but floating towards Stiles instead.

"If this isn't sex pollen, I'm going to be so pissed at this flower for ruining my favourite shirt! And even if it is sex pollen, I'm going to be pissed because Derek's not back for another three hours," Stiles grumbled, trying to swipe the pollen off his shirt. "Oh, shit."

"What shit? No, no shitting. There can't be shit. We're on our own and this is not the time for shit to be happening!"

"The pollen's multiplying. Like crazy fast," Stiles added, the dots of pollen seeming to swarm across his shirt as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

"Geez, that's not good. Can you get it off?" Scott asked warily, not exactly willing to move forward in case it stuck to him too.

Stiles muttered, sliding his hands into his sleeves, and after a few awkward minutes of manoeuvring and more muttering, he was standing in the forest sans shirt and pollen. The pollen kept floating towards Stiles' shirt instead of Stiles himself, and they both let out a sigh of relief.

"Hey, have you been working out?" Scott asked, smiling broadly.

"Well, yeah. Derek gets up before 8 on the weekends, and he's actually strict about his exercise routine. Besides, he steals the blanket, so it's either join him or freeze my ass off in bed."

"Aw, he wants to spend time with you! If I tried that with Kira, I think she'd kick my ass," Scott mused.

"Yeah, she definitely would, dude. Come on, let's get out of here before the pollen decides it wants me instead of my shirt," Stiles said, patting Scott's shoulder.

Scott nodded and they jogged back to the Jeep.

"Oh, and Scott? Let's not tell Derek about us trying to defeat the demon flower from Hell, yeah?"

"Dude, I'm not that stupid. He'd kill me for putting you in danger, even if it's just a flower."

Right on cue the flower burst into flames, and Stiles decided that leaving the demon flower alone was the best course of action. He tore out of the forest without looking back, Scott staring over his shoulder and urging Stiles to _drive faster! Shit-shit-shit!_

Later that night when Derek asked if anything interesting had happened while he'd been gone for the weekend, Stiles kept his heartbeat under control and  _lied_ for everyone's sake.

...


	2. Sally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meaning of the word 'sally', according to Stiles. Dragons are involved.

This word's not matching any meanings in my head, because all I keep seeing is the name. Even though there's like 10 different meanings of the word sally (including a eucalyptus tree that looks like a willow), I still can't get sally to look like anything other than Sally. Which brings me to Mustang Sally, for obvious reasons, and did you know it took like ten years for me to kind of realise that Mustang Sally's actually about someone that has a lot of sex? Well, it might not be, I have a bad habit of analysing songs to the point that they no longer make sense - which also happens when I listen to songs too much, but to be fair, listening to Imagine Dragons  _Radioactive_  200 times in one weekend isn't the worst thing I've ever done. Why aren't dragons real anymore, anyway? They should never have been hunted to extinction, and St. George? So not a saint or even saint-worthy. So what if a dragon tried to kill a bunch of villagers? It's not like they were chopping down the dragon's forests and turning their homes into fields with ready-made meals of sheep and cattle - no, seriously, look it up. It's the equivalent of tearing down a grocery store to put in a free all-you-can-eat buffet. People will be confused as all fuck at first, but they'll still go there to eat, because  _free food_. And dragons? Yeah, they lost their grocery store, but they gained a buffet, and then they got hunted down for it. Those poor scaly bastards just wanted something to eat. Okay, it's more like Hannibal replaced the grocery store with a free buffet so he could get food. Well, I'm presuming that the villagers ate the dragons, because otherwise, that's just a waste of perfectly good meat, honestly. And if they didn't, could you imagine dragon carcasses just lying around for months decomposing? The smell would've driven them insane. In fact, it's probably their lack of olfactory senses that helped the plague spread: I mean, if you're not affected by the smell of decomposing dragon meat, then you're probably not going to worry about a few rats, right? Boy, did they get _that_ wrong. Good old George probably would've been better off killing the rats instead of dragons.

Stiles gnawed on his pen, glancing from the question at the top of the page "What does sally mean?" to his detailed answer below (it went to the back of the sheet). Eh, Coach probably wouldn't be surprised at the length, and it's not  _his_  fault that Coach had taken over English after Mrs. Blake's death (uh, disappearance, he forgot that's what they'd decided on). But still, just to be certain of his A, Stiles drew a small fire-breathing dragon above the question and named it Sally.  _Nailed it_.


	3. Scintillate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles doesn't see himself the way Derek does.

Stiles doesn't know it, but he shines. Not like sparkly vampires or like glitter or anything, but more like sunlight on a lake, like stars in the night sky. At times, Derek's sure that he scintillates at times, going off like a firecracker in the dark, but Stiles doesn't seem to see it the way he does. He doesn't see the sparks that he sometimes emits when he's angry or even just passionate about something, and he doesn't see how each of those sparks reach out to every one of them, drawing them to him. Scott might be the True Alpha, but it's Stiles who brings them together, who  _keeps_  them together. He's their spark and Stiles  _belongs_  with the pack.

"You can't leave," Derek says, arms folded over his chest as if he's trying to keep his heart inside his body.

"Yes, I can, actually. I'm not sticking around for something else to possess me and try to kill my friends, all right? I don't expect you to understand, Sourwolf, because everyone knows you don't have any friends, but I want mine to live!" he says, glaring and sparks flying.

"They're not going to live if you go!" Derek snaps, more angry that Stiles thinks he doesn't have any friends - that  _he's_  not his friend.

It takes a moment for Stiles, who was obviously gearing up for a fight, to realise what Derek's said, and he kind of stares at him in surprise. "Say again, Sourwolf?"

"You belong with the pack, Stiles, and you can't leave. If you leave, then this pack's just going to fall apart at the seams," Derek admits, his voice softer than before. The pure brilliance of Stiles' sparks hurts his eyes, and he lowers his gaze.

"Yeah, 'cause it's really staying together right now," Stiles scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Allison's dead, Ethan's gone, Danny's avoiding us, half the time Kira looks like she doesn't know if she wants to kiss Scott or kill him, Isaac's disappeared to god knows where with Chris, Lydia hasn't left her house for anything apart from school in weeks -  _Lydia!_  - and Scott  _says_  he doesn't blame me but he looks at me like he's afraid I'm going to snap and kill everyone in sight. Well, when he's not trying to act as if I'm made of glass, that is. Melissa still flinches before she touches me, and my Dad still won't meet my eyes when he looks at me. I  _know_  he's thinking the same as everyone else: what if it's not really me anymore?

"I mean, we don't know what the hell happened between me and the nogitsune, and Kira's mum isn't talking, and neither's Deaton - though, seriously, that's not a big surprise 'cause the guy's got vague and cryptic down to an art - and since no one knows what happened, no one trusts me anymore! I can't live like that, I  _can't_ , Derek, so don't ask me to stay and suffer that."

Derek realises that Stiles means every word, and that there's nothing he can say to keep him in Beacon Hills. He nods briefly, his arms falling to his sides. "Fine. Just, wait, all right? Give me a day."

"Why?" Stiles asks warily.

"Because you're  _my spark_ , Stiles, and I'm not letting you go," Derek replies firmly.

At his answer, Stiles smiles and  _shines_  like the spark he is. This time, Derek can't bring himself to look away.

...


	4. Coterie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles doesn't like being left out of pack things because he's human. Derek just wants him to be safe.

"You and your little coterie win, all right? I'm done with all of this, and you can all go celebrate with a huge freaking woodland party and invite all your mythical friends!" Stiles snapped, leaving and slamming the door behind him.

Silence reigned for a few minutes after his sudden departure, and then Boyd looked at Derek as if he's the one who fucked it all up, even though Derek's pretty sure he didn't. He didn't want Stiles to  _leave_ ; he was just trying to keep him safe. Stiles was the only human in the pack, and Derek wasn't going to let him risk himself like the rest of them did - there was no way that Stiles would be able to heal from anything they were usually dealt with, not like the werewolves or even Allison with her hunter training. (Derek refused to acknowledge the fact that Lydia dealt with the same things on a regular basis and she was just as unprotected as Stiles when it all boiled down to it, though she still maintained that her heels were weapons.) Stiles was important, that's all, and Derek couldn't bare to lose another important person in his life.

"Uh, you going to go talk to him, Der?" Erica asked cautiously.

Derek made a noise of frustration, growling low in his throat at her question and Boyd's face (and Isaac's pining look at the door), and left the loft after Stiles. He didn't have to go far to find him: Stiles was sitting in his Jeep with his head on the steering wheel.

"Stiles?" Derek called when he was within human hearing range.

"Fuck off."

Stiles didn't even bother lifting his head to answer, and Derek glared at him.

" **No**. What the fuck's your problem, Stiles?" Derek demanded; he'd just left his loft to come to find him because his betas were acting like he'd kicked a puppy, and this wasn't his fault, damn it! He'd been planning on apologising, even though he still didn't think he had to.

" **You!**  You think that just 'cause you're a hairy wolf every full moon you have more right to live this life! You were born to it, and what, that makes everyone not a wolf less than you? I wasn't born to this, Derek, I  _chose_  it, and I'll be damned if I let you tell me what to do!" Stiles snapped, finally looking at him, even though it was through the window.

"So you want to be  _killed_  then? Fine, go ahead!"

"Of course I don't want to be killed, you fucking idiot! I just don't want to be left behind!" Stiles yelled, letting out a scream of frustration and kicking and punching, and almost knocking himself out in the process.

Derek knew that he shouldn't laugh, especially not when he saw how angry Stiles was, but he couldn't stop a grin from forming. "I guess I don't need to worry about you being killed by some sort of horrible monster. You're more likely to kill yourself just by being alive."

Stiles' anger cooled to a simmer when he saw that Derek was grinning, and he scowled at him half-heartedly. "Fuck you, Derek."

"I don't fuck pack members," Derek replied with a smirk.

Stiles gaped at him, and Derek couldn't help but look at his wide mouth, even when Stiles realised he was looking and purposely licked his lips.

"I don't think you'll have a problem breaking that rule, Sourwolf," Stiles quipped, smirking now.

Derek couldn't think of a reply that didn't involve him crawling in the Jeep and making Stiles prove his words, so he just stood there and stared Stiles down. Stiles just rolled his eyes at him, and turned the key in his ignition.

"Don't go hunting that monster without me, okay? Maybe afterwards I'll be able to help you; I've been known to do a bit of rule-breaking now and then," Stiles admitted, winking at Derek before he put the Jeep into reverse and left him standing there.

Derek refused to meet the eyes of any of his betas when he went back to the loft, but they all grinned at him knowingly anyway.

...


	5. Wanderlust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is cursed with a wanderlust spell and it can't be removed since the witch is dead. Derek offers to help Stiles find someone to help break the spell, and Derek realises that he'll be there for him, no matter if Stiles can be cured or not.

"The spell that was put on Stiles can only be removed by the witch that cast the spell! It's unlikely that he will undo the curse now that he's _dead_ ," Deaton said, looking as angry as anyone had ever seen the usually-calm Druid.

"I thought that killing the caster would undo whatever spell he'd done," Peter said, sounding as meek as he possibly could while covered in blood.

" This isn't Harry Potter, and in the real world, magic doesn't _stop_ because the caster is dead. This could be for life," Deaton said, taking hold of Stiles as he tried to leave again, sitting him on the chair in front of him. "I know it must be difficult, Stiles, but just sit still a little longer."

Stiles made a noise of protest, his eyes glazed over as he fidgeted under Deaton’s hold.

"I thought it was just wanderlust? That doesn't sound so bad," Scott said, looking uncertain nonetheless.

"Normally it’s fine, but a spell for wanderlust is a lot more than a simple desire to travel: it becomes a compulsion. Stiles may be able to fight the spell for short periods of time - perhaps even a few months if he's able to develop his own powers as a spark - but he will constantly feel the need to travel in order to ease the spell's pull on him."

"So, we set him loose in the preserve every few days to walk around?" Isaac asked, confused.

"No, the preserve won't be enough. The strength of this spell requires much longer distances," Deaton said, holding Stiles down again.

"You're not just talking interstate, are you?" Stiles asked weakly, looking up at Deaton.

Reluctantly, he shook his head and confirmed the worst.

"Now, wait just a minute. How do you know it's not going to just fade with time? Give him a couple of months to travel around the country and then we’ll see what he's like," John said, hoping that Stiles' stubbornness would work in their favour for once.

"It won't be, Dad. I already feel like I need to get out of _California_ , and it's only been three days since I was hit with the spell. It's driving me insane," Stiles added, scratching his arm.

"What about other witches? Surely _someone_ out there knows how to break this?" John asked, turning to Deaton.

"Perhaps, but it’s not just _knowing_. It takes a great deal of magical strength to break another's spell. New Orleans would be a good place to start, and it should help ease Stiles' need to travel," Deaton suggested.

"He shouldn't go alone," Peter said suddenly, looking to his Alpha.

Scott nodded determinedly and stepped forward.

"You can't go, Scott. You need to protect Beacon Hills," Stiles said. "And don't you even think about it, Dad. You just want to go on a road trip so you can eat as much junk food as you want. I’m on to you, old man. Besides, you need to make sure the witch’s coven doesn’t come looking for revenge," he said, looking over to Deaton's examination table.

"I'll go," Derek offered. "If we take the Camaro, we'll get there faster than in your old Jeep," he added with a slight grin.

"You leave Roscoe alone; she would've got me to the next town."

Deaton was quiet as the others helped Stiles and Derek plan their trip. Peter didn't look pleased, and Deaton had his suspicions about the wolf, about how he'd found the witch so fast when not even Scott had been able to follow his scent, and about his sudden suggestion to have Scott leave with Stiles.

When the plans were finalised and contact details for several witches in New Orleans provided, Deaton kept Stiles and Derek behind as the others left. When they were alone, he suggested they go the opposite way than what they had planned. Neither was happy about deceiving the others, but both eventually agreed.

Instead of leaving next week like they had planned, Stiles convinced his father that he needed to leave the very next day. Derek picked him up from the Stilinski residence less than an hour later, and after hugging his father so tightly they couldn’t breathe for a few seconds, Stiles got in the car with his bag and they were gone.

New Orleans provided several leads and they travelled to various witches across the US for five months. Stiles started to get antsy as the urge to go _anywhere_ felt like it was literally burning in his veins. Derek worried and hardly slept, constantly watching Stiles to make sure he wouldn’t take the keys and leave whatever shitty motel they were in just to keep moving (he’d caught him trying to do that the week before). Stiles started taking sleeping pills, discovering that the urge wasn’t so bad if he was medically unconscious at night, though he still managed to toss and turn in his sleep unless Derek held him down.

When news came that someone in France could help, Stiles almost collapsed in relief. Derek put the Camaro in storage and booked them a flight to France via Iceland. Stiles told his Dad what was happening, and while John sounded pleased that they were getting somewhere, the fact that Stiles was succumbing to the spell worried him as well. Derek promised to look after Stiles, which probably shouldn’t have reassured John as much as it did.

On the plane that afternoon, Derek looked at the man he’d come to care for more than any other in the world. Stiles drooled on Derek’s shoulder in his pill-induced sleep, and Derek smiled at him fondly, ignoring the wet patch easily enough. He knew that he would do everything in his power to ensure that Stiles survived, and as long as he was wanted, Derek would never leave Stiles’ side again. If that meant they had to travel around the world for the rest of their lives, so be it.

...


	6. Caprine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter just had to aggravate the overly-sensitive creature that looked like a hag, and now he's stuck on the side of a cliff with a very irate girlfriend ready to kill him if he ruins his suit.

"If you don't help me down, I'm going to find some way to kill you!" Peter yelled.

"Hmm,  _tempting_. But the answer's still no, Peter. You look positively caprine and I'm enjoying myself far too much," Lydia said with a sweet smile.

Peter decided that he was dating a psychopath. It was why they were perfect for each other, really: he fucked with her mind, she fucked his mind up in return, and they love-hated each other with a passion that normal couples would never understand.

"Caprine?" Scott whispered to Stiles, frowning.

"She means he looks like a goat," he replied, not bothering to whisper, smirking as he leaned back against Derek.

Peter let out a low growl of annoyance, trying to figure out a way to get down from the rocky cliffside. While he would have no compunctions about potentially injuring himself, he was wearing a Marc Jacobs suit and Lydia had threatened to kill him if he ruined it. Peter knew that she wasn't joking and the thought of Lydia being angry enough to kill him made the werewolf shudder in fear. It wasn't  **his**  fault they were chased by some sort of demonic creature (except that it definitely was; he'd been warned that the creature was sensitive about it's hag-like appearance, and well, Peter just so happened to have a mirror handy).

Scott, Stiles and Derek had distracted the creature so Lydia and Peter could hide. While Lydia had done the smart thing and gone into the trees, Peter had decided that attempting to climb the cliff ravine was the best means of escape. He still stood by that decision, even if he couldn't get down now.

"I say we leave him there overnight as punishment for pissing the creature off," Stiles said.

"Seconded," Derek huffed, arms wrapped around Stiles as he nuzzled his neck.

"Bloody mating hormones. Tone it down, would you? I can smell you from up here, you lovesick puppies!"

"Naw, hear that, pumpkin? Uncle Peter's calling us lovesick puppies. And you said Uncle Peter didn't like nicknames, Lyds," Stiles said, turning to make out with Derek in pure defiance.

"I said  **I**  don't like nicknames. And stop it, you're ruining my concentration. Peter, move to the edge on my left."

Peter looked to the edge and shook his head. That was far too small, he'd barely be able to get a toe on it. Lydia put her hands on her hips and glared up at him.

"If you don't move in the next three seconds, you don't want to know what I'll do to you."

Peter winced, knowing all too well about her stock of wolfsbane. He made his way slowly and carefully down to the ridge she'd said, clinging on as he faced the cliff face, and telling himself that he would kill Stiles if he recorded this.

"Good, now there's another ledge to the right of your foot."

Fuck, he couldn't see the ledge for himself. That meant he was going to have to trust her completely for this. Peter had severe trust issues, and Lydia knew that, damn it. He moved his foot a few minutes later, clinging by the edge of his human fingers.

"Almost there, a bit further," Lydia called, and he almost sighed in relief when he felt the rocky ledge under his foot.

"What now?" he yelled.

"You can start by not yelling at me," she replied firmly.

"Sorry, dearest," Peter ground out.

"Mm-hmm. Right hand directly vertical from where it is now."

"Left foot on blue, right hand on red, and ... " Stiles was cut off abruptly by what Peter hoped was Derek's hand rather than his mouth. The hormones they were exuding was affecting his vision.

"Stiles, shut up. In fact, Scott, get them out of here. I can deal with this," Lydia said.

"Right. Uh, guys, can you stop now? I don't want to explain to my mum that you've traumatised me again," Scott said.

"But I want to watch Uncle Peter get past his numerous trust issues and the bonding experience he and Lydia are sure to share."

"Stiles, come on. We'll go home and test out the new sheets I bought last weekend," Derek offered, and Peter so did not need to know that.

"What are we still doing here, then? C'mon, 400 thread Egyptian cotton await us," Stiles called, already running ahead.

"Lydia, dearest? I'm still stuck here," Peter called, feeling his fingers slipping.

"I know that, Peter. Move your left foot down and to the right a bit," Lydia directed.

Peter had no idea how long it took, but he followed her instructions (even if he needed to bite back a sarcastic response every now and then), and eventually, he found himself standing on the uneven ground. He made his way over to Lydia, expecting a hug at the very least ( _look, his suit was still perfectly fine!_ ), and instead he was hit very firmly with her Prada handbag.

"What the hell was that for?"

"You scared me! And you were told not to aggravate the creature! Why were you carrying a mirror around anyway?" Lydia demanded.

"You hate using your phone to check your reflection, but you always forget to bring a mirror," Peter said, shrugging.

Her angry gaze softened slightly, but Peter didn't dare presume that she had forgiven him. She let out a sigh and turned on her heel, heading back to the restaurant where their car waited.

"You're taking me home and we're having sex until I forget about the last thirty minutes, understood?" Lydia said over her shoulder.

"Yes, dearest," Peter said with a quick grin, running to catch up to her.

He loved when she got this way, and despite all the effort he put into not ruining his suit, Peter knew it would probably be torn off him when they got home.

...


	7. Zephyr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wind blowing in from the west isn't a zephyr, it's a freezing cold wind that makes Stiles think of the Arctic. Inside, the fireplace is burning and keeping the others warm, though Peter flinches when the logs crack. Scott flinches when he looks at Stiles, much like Peter's reflexive response to the fire, and as Stiles thinks about the others' flinch points, he wonders what his own is.

The wind is cold, blowing in from the west, and there's no amount of thermal lined clothing that will be able to keep his body warm. He's only human, and this wind a zephyr is not. It's the wind before a storm, building up before a hurricane, the cold that swirls down from the Arctic, and there's nothing anyone can do to stop feeling it. Even his werewolf friends have huddled together in a pile inside the loft, bodies stacked atop one another in front of the stone fireplace. Everyone pretends not to notice Peter flinch any time the wood cracks, and Stiles doesn't know if it's good or bad that they're not acknowledging what seems to be a legitimate fear.

Stiles is a big advocate of the whole 'ignore a situation until it's no longer a situation' plan himself, but this doesn't feel right. Which is something Scott should be saying, really, because Scott's the good one between them. He's the angel and Stiles is the devil, just like it has been since they were kids and Stiles convinced Scott to climb up to the big kids' monkey bars with him. But that devil became a bit too literal recently, and he hurt the angel beyond repair, and there's nothing he can do to fix that. Scott doesn't mean to flinch when he looks at him, Stiles knows he doesn't, but it's reflexive, like Peter and the fireplace.

In fact, Scott flinching when he looks at him is the main reason Stiles is out on the balcony freezing his ass off. He doesn't think anyone's noticed his absence yet, they're all too mesmerised by the movie that's playing and the warmth they're feeling. He can't blame them, really, but tonight even Star Wars won't be enough to pull Stiles out of his mind and his thoughts. The window opens and someone else steps out onto the balcony, moving to stand beside Stiles without actually touching him.

He breathes in relief when he sees that it's Derek. Just like Scott and Peter, Derek has an automatic flinch too; his is when someone touches his bare skin. He's okay with clothes, mostly, but if it's directly on bare skin he flinches back. It's something that Stiles hadn't even noticed until he looked for everyone's flinch points, but now that he knows about it, he's careful not to set Derek off. They all have a different point: Boyd flinches at the cold (and he works at the ice rink, Stiles could write a freaking thesis on that), Isaac flinches at the very thought of small spaces (and completely freaks out if he's put in one without an escape, which Stiles can't blame him for at all), and Erica flinches any time they drive past the hospital (or even when she sees the word itself; he's seen her turn away at the sign for the hospital before). Allison's still in France with her father, so Stiles can't see what she flinches at, but he can probably guess.

Stiles has yet to figure out what his own flinch point is, but he thinks it might be something to do with disappointment. He hates the fact that he can hear pure disappointment laced into his father's words and in his expressions, he can see it on his teacher's faces, and he can see it in the others when he refuses - yet again - to become a werewolf. They're all disappointed in him, and he doesn't like that, so Stiles thinks that he would probably flinch at that. It makes sense, at least.

"Cold out here tonight," Derek says finally, and Stiles nods in response.

He doesn't talk much when it's just him and Derek, and it's relaxing to not have to keep up the constant chatter like he does with the others, unwilling to see that he's anything other than the usual hyperactive kid that rambled at a drop of a hat. It hurts his throat now, but Derek doesn't push for conversation, and Stiles is grateful for that.

"You're missing the movie," Derek says, and he can feel his body warmth even though there's still space between them.

"Seen them hundreds of times before. Don't feel like it tonight," he adds softly.

"All right. Want to have a nap in my room? It's been a long day, and no one will notice if we're gone," Derek offers.

Stiles looks at him, pleased when Derek doesn't flinch. He doesn't seem disappointed or upset in any way, he just looks like he needs to sleep. It's something they worked out a few weeks ago. Stiles usually wakes up with nightmares when he's home, and Derek wakes up feeling like he can't breathe, but after taking a nap on Derek's couch while watching TV (neither one focusing on the screen itself, which is probably why America's Next Top Model was playing), they woke up feeling rested. Not screaming, not suffocating, and that was enough. It didn't always work, sometimes Stiles still woke up with a scream or Derek woke up with a gasp and hand on his burning chest, but the times that it did work was enough to make them feel like they had before. Before the fire, the nogitsune, the flinching.

"All right," Stiles replies, following Derek back inside, to his room, and into his bed.

This night, they sleep without interruption, and outside the west wind blows through the preserve, scattering leaves in the night.

...


	8. The art of canine telepathy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek go to Deaton's house for training. Stiles finds out he can hear the thoughts of Deaton's dog, Muffin.
> 
> ...
> 
> Word of the day: vane

Stiles blinked at the cookie cutter house in surprise. When he'd been invited to Deaton's house to train as an emissary, he'd kind of expected ... well, something a bit darker than this, honestly. He knew that Deaton wasn't a witch, but Druid's were meant to be all mystical and shit, weren't they? _Shouldn't that mystery extend to their house as well?_ There wasn't a tree in sight, and the front garden was made up with pebbles, white rocks piled on top of white rocks. He supposed it looked a lot like a typical Japanese meditation garden, though Stiles doubted Deaton sat out in his front yard meditating every morning.

"If you're done staring, can we go inside and get started?" Derek asked with a reluctant sigh beside him.

"I've still got fifteen more seconds of staring before I'm over _this_ ," Stiles replied, just to piss him off a bit.

"It's a _house_ , Stiles. What's there to get over?"

"He's a Druid with a Japanese rock garden. I wasn't expecting the house to be so normal, either. I was expecting... oh, I don't know, a gingerbread house with a little woodcutter weather vane on the letterbox?"

"Like you said, Deaton's a _Druid_ ; he's not a witch, so why would he have a gingerbread house, Stiles?" Derek asked with a sigh.

"You lack imagination, you know that?"

"So you've told me. Your fifteen seconds are up," Derek added, shoving Stiles towards the fence.

"I can't believe you counted that," he muttered, walking up the path to the front door.

"You're going to do this all day, aren't you?"

"Do what?" Stiles asked, frowning as he rang the doorbell loudly and obnoxiously.

Derek just looked at the doorbell pointedly and didn't reply. Stiles smirked, wondering if he'd even recognised the tune as _Little Red Riding Hood_ (the original version by Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs, obviously; just because Stiles was causing shit didn't mean he couldn't observe the classics).

"Good morning, Stiles, Derek. If you could stop playing the doorbell and scaring Muffin, I'd appreciate it," Deaton added.

Stiles immediately let go of the doorbell and gave him a somewhat remorseful look. "Who's Muffin?"

"My dog," he replied, leading them through his house to the kitchen. "Muffin, say hello to Stiles and Derek."

He wasn't even using a cutesy voice like most people did with animals, but Stiles figured being a vet cured him of that pretty fast.

 _Hello, Stiles and Derek_.

 _Okay. Deaton had a dog that could talk_ **_into his brain_ ** _. Not freaking out. Not freaking out._ **_Totally_ ** _freaking out._

"What the **fuck** was that?!" Stiles yelled, leaping back a foot to get away from the mind-talking monster.

The dog yapped and looked cute in response.

Deaton just frowned and looked between his dog and Stiles. "That's Muffin, my dog. Is everything all right, Stiles?"

"You mean you didn't hear that?" Stiles asked, looking at Deaton, then to Derek.

"Hear what, Stiles?" Derek asked, looking at him worriedly.

"Muffin. He - "

"She," Deaton corrected.

" **She** talked! She said _hello, Stiles and Derek_. In my head!" Stiles said.

"Muffin doesn't have telepathic abilities, Stiles," Deaton said slowly, frowning.

"Yeah, that _you_ know of. C'mon, Muffin, prove them wrong."

Muffin just sat down and smiled happily, her tongue lolling out of her mouth.

Stiles heard Derek's laughter first, and he glared at him. Then Deaton started chuckling as well, and Stiles went red realising that they'd tricked him.

"Oh, fuck **both** of you with a cactus! How did you do that?" Stiles asked, his curiosity swiftly taking over his embarrassment.

"Listen and learn; you might just find out one day," Deaton said, still chuckling.

"Now, are you going to take this seriously, Stiles?" Derek asked, arms crossed over his chest.

"Yes. Promise," Stiles added quickly.

Deaton led them out to the back yard (which had trees and a garden with herbs and plants - that's what Stiles had expected!), Muffin following docilely.

 _Don't be a bonehead about this, Stiles_ , Muffin said, lying on the deck and resting her head on her paws to watch them.

"I won't," he murmured.

"You won't what?" Deaton asked, frowning.

"I thought you said you'd take this seriously?" Derek added.

Stiles stared at Deaton and Derek incredulously, unable to believe that they were doing this to him again. Then he realised that they were actually **serious** this time and weren't fucking with him, and Stiles looked over at Muffin who was licking her paws innocently.

"Nope! I am so **not** dealing with a telepathic dog today," he stated firmly.

Stiles promptly turned his back on the dog, and refused to acknowledge any questions from Deaton and Derek.

...

Over the course of the next six months, they discovered that Stiles had an affinity for telepathy with canines, including (but not limited to) the wolf pack. It helped him out of a few scrapes (and kidnappings) here and there, especially when he learned how to return thoughts to the wolves and dog (Muffin jumped all over him eagerly when he was successful with his attempt, her happy and proud thoughts almost bombarding him).

Two years later, Muffin announced her pregnancy, and Stiles was allowed first pick from the litter. He named his pup McMuffin and was pleased to hear Mac's first thought less than a week later. Derek had second pick from the litter and if it wasn't for Stiles, she would have been named Dog or something equally lame. Nugget was one of the most well-behaved dogs in the park (possibly the world), not surprising Stiles in the slightest, and she had a way of calming Mac in a way that not even Stiles could manage some days.

When they visited Deaton, Stiles told his mentor that the pups hated his new lounge, and just laughed uproariously when they proved him right by peeing on the upholstery.

...

The end


	9. Tarantism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making Derek dance wasn't Stiles' fault. Making him enter the town's Twinkle Toes competition definitely was.

Stiles was pretty sure this wasn't his fault. He was just reading through one of the books he'd  ~~stolen~~   _borrowed_  from Deaton, and it just so happened that he processed information faster if he heard it (his teachers didn't like him talking in class in general, hence his numerous highlighters for visual cues instead). Stiles was reading the book out loud when Derek had jumped through the window and scared the hell out of him, so Stiles' attention went straight from the spell to Derek. Which explains why Derek was dancing, and how it wasn't Stiles' fault at all. Even if Derek's expression said otherwise.

"Dude, what did you do to Derek?" Scott asked, entering in through the window a minute later.

"Why are you coming in through my window?  **Both** of you? My dad  _knows_  now, y'know, and you'd look a lot less suspicious if you actually entered via a door every now and then," Stiles muttered.

"I forgot and just followed Derek. Seriously, Stiles. Derek is  _dancing_."

"Tarantism spell: dancing not spiders," he added at Scott's confused look. "I thought it was only meant to work if there was music playing," Stiles mused, looking back to the book.

"Your neighbour has her stereo playing and I can hear it pretty clearly. Uh, any chance you can take the spell off him?" Scott added, feeling bad for his beta.

"Not until he stops looking like he's going to murder me."

"Derek always looks like that, dude. Don't glare at me, Derek, you do!"

"Nah, it's gone down to about 60-40. Jury's still out on which number is for which look though," Stiles added, grinning. "Hmm, got it. Hold still if you can, Derek."

A few minutes later, Derek stopped dancing and gave a sigh of relief.

"Thank you," he said, a little roughly.

"No problem, Der-bear. Although, you've got some serious moves; you should think about entering the town's next Twinkle Toes competition," Stiles said, calling the last part when Derek rolled his eyes and left the room before he finished talking. (At least he used the door this time.)

"Dude, how are you so calm? I thought you'd be cashing in on this for all it's worth!" Scott hissed, incredulous at his best friend's sudden restraint.

Stiles just smirked and pointed up to the camera that was still installed in the corner of his bedroom. "It was all being taped. Now, help me find the entry form for the Twinkle Toes competition. We're signing Derek up, and you're  _making_  him compete as his Alpha."

Derek won to the surprise of  _everyone_ , and Stiles didn't even use a spell.

Stiles plastered the loft with photos of Derek accepting his trophy, wearing his winner's sash and a blush that curled around his cheeks to his ears. Derek didn't bother retaliating, and proudly displayed his trophy in his lounge room; no one dared tease him for it because he really was proud of his achievement and Stiles all glared at them if they tried to say anything anyway.

For the next three years, more trophies joined Derek's first on his bookshelf. The year after that, he and Stiles competed in the couple's dance instead. When they won, Derek covered Stiles' jeep with the photos, even going so far as to wrap his tyres.

Stiles just laughed and took the Camaro to work instead.

...


	10. Abecedarian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles have two daughters: Holly and Missy.
> 
> While Derek's attempting to change Missy, Holly announces that she's an abecedarian.

"I'm an abecedarian," Holly stated clearly and carefully, looking up at her father with big amber eyes.

"Hmm, and what's that?" Derek asked absent-mindedly, trying to get Missy into her clothes without either one of them ripping them.

Holly frowned slightly, wobbling her loose front tooth with her tongue as she thought about it. "I'm learning ABC's," she said finally, sounding a bit unsure.

"Very good, Missy. Why don't you get your Papa's dictionary and we'll tick that word off the list?" Derek suggested, smiling at her warmly.

Holly brightened up immediately, running off to get the dictionary from the library.

"Papa! I got it right! Daddy said I can tick it off the list!" Holly called.

Missy finally stopped squirming and let Derek dress her properly. Holly returned to the room, dictionary under one arm, and tugging her Papa along with the other. Derek raised an eyebrow, grinning at the sight of Stiles wearing his pyjama bottoms with a dress shirt and tie.

"Holly just couldn't wait until I finished getting changed before dragging me out. So, what's the big news, Holl?" Stiles asked with a grin.

Derek tried not to groan at yet another abbreviation -  _Mistletoe (don't ask;_ seriously _) down to Missy, and Holliday to Holly down to Holl; where would it end?_

"I'm an abecedarian," Holly repeated with a broad smile. "I'm learning the alphabet."

"Oh, nice work. Do you have your special highlighter?" Stiles asked.

Holly held the dictionary up for Stiles to hold, and as soon as it was in his hands, she ran out of the room to fetch her highlighter.

"At this rate, Holly's probably going to finish the book by the end of the year," Stiles said, grinning at Derek.

"Probably. Werewolves are fast learners; but I think she gets her studying habits from you," Derek said, picking Missy up and kissing Stiles.

"You're just saying that 'cause you want to get in my pants," Stiles said.

"Yep, nothing quite as sexy as flannel check pyjama pants," Derek deadpanned.

"Oh, I'm going to remember that later tonight when I - "

Stiles fell silent when Derek shook his head minutely, and Holly returned a few seconds later, a highlighter in each hand.

"You smell funny, Papa," Holly said, wrinkling her nose.

"That's because Papa hasn't finished changing his clothes yet, Holly," Derek said quickly, Stiles trying not to flush bright red beside him.

There was nothing quite like their four year old daughter picking up on a scent and bringing it to everyone's attention. Thankfully, they weren't at a dinner party with the Sheriff, Melissa, and the rest of the pack this time.

Holly seemed to accept Derek's excuse and sat on the floor. Stiles kneeled in front of her, placing the dictionary down so Holly could open it. She grinned brightly on seeing the words already highlighted, and carefully uncapped the yellow highlighter to highlight the word 'abecedarian' in the dictionary. The cap was then replaced and the green highlighter was opened so the meaning could be highlighted.

"Very proud of you, Holly. You're so smart," Stiles said, pulling her up and into a warm hug.

Derek bounced Missy on his hip gently, glad that she'd finally settled, and kissed Holly in Stiles' arms quickly. He ruffled her slightly-damp hair, making Holly growl at him lightly.

"I'm going to finish getting changed, okay?" Stiles said, giving Holly one more squeeze before he set her down.

Stiles kissed Missy's fine-haired head gently, murmuring words of love to their almost-one-year old daughter. He then kissed Derek as well, flicking his tongue against Derek's lips as a promise of things to come, and left for their bedroom.

"All right, Holly. Dictionary back in the library, and downstairs with you," Derek said, indicating to the door.

Holly nodded, grabbed the dictionary and went back downstairs. Derek shut the nursery room door with his foot and followed after her, moving Missy slightly so she was resting in the crook of his arm.

By the time Stiles came down dressed in the rest of his pyjamas (he'd stolen one of Derek's henley shirts again), Derek, Holly, and Missy were all lying on the lounge waiting for him to join them for movie night. Stiles snuggled up to Derek, their daughters settled between them, and Derek smiled contently. They weren't the world's most conventional pack, but Derek didn't care about  _conventional_. They were his family, his small pack within a larger pack, and that meant more to him than anything else in the world.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those interested, my brainspace looks like this:
> 
> Erica was the surrogate for both Holliday and Mistletoe. Their names came about because Stiles got to pick the names (Derek got to pick the colours of the nursery, and there was sex involved for Stiles to get his way - he's not above playing dirty). Holliday was born on a public holiday (the streets through Beacon Hills were hell on that day, never mind the fact they had a pregnant Erica in the back seat of Stiles' jeep wolfing out on the way to Deaton's); Mistletoe was born on the 26th of December, and her name was kind of said jokingly, but Derek had agreed (his hand had been literally crushed by Erica's grip and Deaton had given him something to numb the pain that made him a bit calmer than usual), so that's how their daughters ended up as Holly and Missy.
> 
> Holly has Stiles' eyes, but Derek's hair. Missy has both Derek's eyes and hair. But they'll both grow up to have Erica's backbone!


	11. Indelible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Months have passed since the nogitsune was defeated, but Stiles still bears the creature's scars and is constantly in pain. Scott helps where he can, but Derek is the one there every night, black veins draining the pain out of Stiles so he can finally sleep.

Stiles was silent and smooth as he climbed out of bed, not wanting to wake his father down the hall; they were both light sleepers now, and Stiles knew that his father hadn't slept much lately, though he'd tried to hide the fact each morning at breakfast. Stiles knew the signs because he hadn't slept much either, both of them playing a game where they pretended not to notice the thick black circles under the other's eyes. John had tried to talk about it, to talk to him about the nogitsune, but the memories were still too fresh for Stiles and he'd clamped up every time his father tried. Now, months later, Stiles still couldn't find a way to talk about what had happened - what he'd done - and John no longer tried, though he still looked at Stiles every now and then as if he wanted to say something.

It was summer now and he could feel the heat outside, but Stiles was dressed in thick winter flannels. Still freezing, he wrapped his thick robe around his perpetually cold body, rubbing his arms to try and warm his limbs, even though he knew it was a futile action. Ever since the nogitsune, his body never stopped being freezing cold, every limb seemed to ache, his head pounded and his chest tightened with every breath; in short, everything just seemed to **hurt.** Although he'd been to both doctors and Deaton, no one could seem to figure out what was wrong with him. There was no explanation for any of it, and it was put down to stress of being a teenager by the doctors at Beacon Hills Memorial. He wished it was as simple as that. Scott helped out now and then, thick black lines travelling up his arms as he leeched out Stiles' pain, but they both knew that he couldn't keep it up forever. Even though Scott probably _would_ keep going until he collapsed, Stiles refused to let him do that.

Padding out of his room, he made his way downstairs, bypassing the creeky floorboard and squeaky step, and into the kitchen. He poured sugar and cocoa into a saucepan with some milk, heating it slowly and carefully, making sure not to make enough noise to wake his father. When it was bubbling, Stiles added more milk and let it heat up again as he took down two mugs from the cupboard. Stirring a few times, Stiles made his way to the front door and unlocked it gently, returning to the kitchen to finish making the hot chocolate.

"You can come inside now," he said, voice soft but still audible for those with werewolf hearing.

The front door opened a second later, Derek making his way directly into the kitchen. Stiles smiled briefly at him, noting that he was wearing his red jumper with the thumbholes, and nodded to the mug which Derek took without a word of protest. It had taken weeks for him to convince Derek to come inside, a week or so longer to get him to sit down with him, and by now, it was a common occurrence for them to fall asleep together on the couch. In fact, most nights, it was the only way Stiles could sleep. He had the feeling that it was the same with Derek, but it was yet another thing that Stiles didn't talk about.

"Marshmallow?" Stiles offered, holding out the glass jar.

Derek picked out one pink and one white marshmallow, dropping the first into his mug and the latter into his mouth. Stiles grinned slightly at the sight and did the same for his own marshmallows. They were both silent as they sipped their drinks, and when they'd finished, Derek headed to the lounge room, sitting on the couch before guiding Stiles to sit between his legs. Stiles closed his eyes, leaning back against Derek's chest contentedly and just breathing as Derek wrapped his arms around his body gently. Derek pressed a chaste kiss to the back of Stiles' neck, where his red-vein scars still showed from the nogitsune, and took Stiles' wrists in his hands. In the beginning, Stiles had loathed the indelible marks; he could see them creeping around his neck every time he saw his reflection, and once, in a fit of anger, he had attempted to scratch them off with blunt nails. The marks didn't bother him quite so much anymore, and Derek made sure he didn't hurt himself.

They both gasped softly as Derek started to drain the pain out of Stiles, his body arching against the werewolf's chest as black veins made their way up Derek's arms. He continued to leech the pain until Stiles stopped shivering in his arms, and when Derek focused again, the sun was starting to filter in through the curtains. He knew he should leave, that the Sheriff probably wouldn't appreciate him being in the house, despite asking for his help last year. But Derek couldn't bring himself to leave, and instead he tightened his hold on Stiles, his face pressed up against the younger man's neck and shoulder as they both fell asleep.

When they woke up, it was to find a blanket covering both of them and a note nearby telling them to wash their own mugs next time.

...

Thanks for reading!


	12. Meliorism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles decides that he hates Beacon Hills (and dealing with the McCall pack), and wants to go back to New York with Derek. Derek reminds him how much he hated New York.
> 
> (AU - Stiles is a werewolf and never lived in Beacon Hills)

"How do you manage such optimism all the time, Derek? I don't think one person should be allowed to be so sunny and smiling all the freaking time!" Stiles groaned, flopping over the back of the couch, his head pressed into the back cushions. "I don't want to deal with the McCall pack ever again. I'm running away."

"Very funny, Stiles. Get your head out of the couch," Derek muttered, shoving at Stiles' head without looking away from his book.

"Don't wanna," Stiles replied, voice muffled.

"What did Scott do this time?" Derek asked his mate, rolling his eyes.

"He talked down a boggart. An actual boggart, feeding off human misery and fear, and he **talked** it into leaving Beacon Hills."

"Must've been some talk," Derek muttered, raising his eyebrow as he returned his attention back to his book.

"Oh, it was. A stirring speech about living life and making the world a better place through meliorism, blah, blah, blah. Remind me why you brought me here?" Stiles asked with a groan. "We could've stayed in New York, y'know."

"You hated New York."

"I'm sure I hated it less than I remember hating it," Stiles groaned, flipping over the couch, kicking Derek in the back of the head on his way over. "We had fun in New York. Remember that first apartment we had?"

"The one with the death threats scrawled on the bathroom wall in pig blood?" Derek asked, rubbing his head before moving Stiles' feet into his lap.

"Yeah. That one cleaned up nice."

"You refused to step foot in that bathroom for two whole months, Stiles."

"We had some good sex in there, too," Stiles continued as if Derek hadn't replied. "Is that the apartment we broke the towel rack in, or was it the other one?"

"It was the other one; the one with the green and yellow kitchen," he answered, setting his book aside now.

"Ugh, I hated that kitchen."

"Didn't stop you from fucking me every chance you got when we were in there," Derek pointed out smugly.

"You **cook naked** , what else was I supposed to do?"

"A bit of warning would be nice next time; those oil burns took a whole day to heal."

"You still looked gorgeous," Stiles replied, leaning over to press a kiss to his lips. "Now, which place did I figure out how to auto-fellatio?"

"That was here, Stiles. You went to that yoga class with Lydia, came home and woke me up after I'd been on surveillance all night just to demonstrate just what you'd learnt."

"Don't act like you didn't love it," Stiles said, smirking at him. "All right, I like this place again. We can stay here. New York sucks."

"So do you," Derek said, snorting at his own joke. "And don't think you're getting out of dealing with the McCall pack that easily."

"Fuck. Why'd it have to be me anyway?"

"You look closer to their age than I do, so it was easier to get you into the school. Besides, Scott's already talking like you two are best friends," Derek said, raising an eyebrow slightly.

"That's because Jackson's a douchenozzle with extra douche, and I don't like bullies," Stiles muttered.

"Yeah, I know, Stiles. You've only got a few more months until you graduate, so just keep on going until then, all right?"

"Easy for you to say; you don't have to deal with teenage bullshit for the second time in your life... Besides, with everyone thinking I'm only 17, I'm being warned against spending time with you. They think you're going to corrupt my innocence or something."

"Who's they?" Derek asked tightly.

"School counsellor; she talks like she knows more than she says, and she's got the smell of an emissary about her. I'll be confronting her about it tomorrow if she doesn't back the fuck off."

"If she doesn't, let me know. I'm not about to let you be taken away from me, not again," Derek said, pulling Stiles onto his lap, pressing his lips against the nape of Stiles' neck.

"Please, like I'd let anyone try that again. I'd go fucking rabid," Stiles muttered, turning his head to kiss Derek heatedly. "Any word on the werewolf killers?"

"The agency thinks it might be the Argents. I've got Boyd and Erica surveilling them."

"So they won't be back for a few hours then?" Stiles asked with a suggestive grin, his eyes turning gold. "Race you to the bedroom," he said, jumping up and running off.

Derek stood and followed at a leisurely pace. "If we break anything, it's being docked from your pay this time," he called, smirking when Stiles swore at him.

"Fine, Alpha of mine. But the first one to orgasm has to deal with the McCall pack!"

(They tied. Scott was surprised to see Alpha Derek Hale the next day, but just smiled brightly and let him inside with Stiles following.)

...

The end.

Thanks for reading!


	13. Hokum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles' English professor thinks there's a romantic relationship between his characters Stan and Dennis. Obviously, Stiles' English professor is delusional.

"I'm not quite sure what to say to this, Stiles. The content is definitely..."

"Unique?" Stiles offered, giving his English professor a wry grin.

"Well, it certainly is that, but... I'm also concerned about the graphic themes you have written. I understand that it is a work of fantasy, but your main character, Scout, definitely seems to get into situations that end with a lot of bloodshed. Is that much truly necessary? And the violence that happens to your main character's friends seems to be over the top at times."

"Yeah, you're telling me," Stiles muttered under his breath.

"That being said, the story is very intriguing, and I'm looking forward to seeing the romantic side of the story develop further. The two minor characters you have here, Stan and Dennis, have a very unique relationship. It's a plot worth considering working on further for your final assignment."

"We-They're not... It's not a romantic relationship!"

"Oh. I'm sorry, I simply assumed that with all of the long gazes and locking eyes, the emotional development with both of their characters to provide support to each other... It seemed a likely outcome for them."

Stiles went red and didn't reply.

"Well, I just wanted to talk with you about trying to lessen the amount of physical violence that occurs in your story," the professor said, sighing. "Just think about it, and we'll discuss it when you're due to submit your next draft, all right?"

Stiles nodded, grabbed the assignment from his professor, and promptly left.

 _Romantic side of the story. Pah! There was no romantic side! There was annoyance, and sure, Derek looked good without a shirt, but that didn't mean there was romance! Pure and utter hokum_ , Stiles thought to himself, stuffing his essay in his bag harshly and leaving. _It was obviously a stupid idea to major in Creative Writing_.

He stopped short on seeing Derek in the college parking lot, leaning up against the Jeep like he was meant to be there. (Some part of Stiles' brain immediately latched on to the idea and started writing the next part of his story: _Dennis picking Stan up after he'd finished work, cool and collected around everyone else, but when they were alone, Dennis would smile at Stan like he meant the world to him, and ... there was no romantic side in the story! In fact, he had a feeling that Dennis was going to die an untimely and painful death_ , Stiles thought viciously.)

"What are you doing here, Derek?" Stiles asked.

"The others said you had a meeting with your English professor; I thought I'd drop by to see how you were doing," Derek said, shrugging slightly.

"Why would you do that? Why do you even care?"

Derek seemed surprised at Stiles' snapped response, eyes widening as his eyebrows raised. "Of course I care, Stiles. You're pack."

Stiles didn't want to believe that there was hesitation before Derek said _pack_ , and even if there was, it didn't mean a thing.

"Yep. That's me: pack. Pack and nothing else. I'm going now, unless you plan on keeping me here longer?" Stiles asked, purposefully looking at his door behind Derek's back.

"Oh, sure. Sorry," Derek said, stepping aside quickly. "Have a good night. It's a full moon, so stay inside, okay?"

"I know it's a full moon; just like I've always known for the past year of full moons. What the hell's going on with you, Derek?"

"N-nothing. Just... I don't want you getting hurt," he admitted, ears pink.

"Then stop doing stuff like this," Stiles growled, getting in his Jeep and slamming the door shut.

"Wait, what? Stiles?" Derek asked.

_Fuuuuuuuuuuuck._

Stiles ignored Derek, ignored his perfect and confused face, and put his Jeep in reverse, tearing out of the parking lot without looking back.

He totally blamed his professor for this. There was no romance, not even if he wanted there to be, and that's the way it would always be.

Stiles made it home in a record fifteen minutes (amazingly, he didn't get pulled over for speeding), and he shouldn't have been surprised, but when he opened the Jeep door, Derek was standing there at his front door. He still looked confused, and he wasn't even winded (the jerk). Stiles seriously contemplated just leaving again, but he had the feeling that Derek would just follow him. He glowered and pushed his way past Derek, wishing that he was like a vampire and needed permission to enter his house. Despite the door that Stiles didn't bother closing, Derek still hung back on the front porch, looking as much like a puppy as Stiles had ever seen him.

"Hurry up before the neighbours start talking," Stiles muttered, heading up to his bedroom without looking back.

Derek stepped inside and followed Stiles immediately, his expression softening as he slowly started to realise what Stiles had meant. He closed the bedroom door behind him, watching Stiles as he pulled his shirt off and changed into an old t-shirt with faded writing. Stiles pretended not to notice his gaze and sat at his desk.

"Well? You followed me home, what do you want?"

 _You, Dennis would tell Stan. Only you_...

"I'm not sure, actually. I think I want to kiss you."

"What?" Stiles asked, unsure if he'd heard Derek correctly or his subconscious had suddenly started taking over the real world.

"Can I kiss you, Stiles?" Derek asked softly, moving forward until their knees were touching.

Stiles licked his lips and nodded. Derek lifted him in the next heartbeat, mouth sliding against his, and it was even more than Stiles had ever thought it could be.

 _Maybe his professor was right and there was a need to further develop the romantic side of the story. He would definitely try to give Stan and Dennis the ending they deserved_ , Stiles thought to himself, pulling Derek close for another heated kiss.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading!


	14. Xyst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is annoyed at everyone, and takes his frustration out on Derek.

Stiles was reading a book that Deaton had loaned him when Derek returned to the loft in the early hours of the morning. He'd spent most of his night patrolling Beacon Hills (Scott was off on a holiday with Allison and Isaac, and he'd handed over his territorial duties temporarily to Derek because neither of them trusted Peter) and while there was nothing threatening the town this week, he still felt it prudent to make sure it stayed that way.

"Hey, you're up late," Derek commented, dropping a kiss to the top of Stiles' head as he passed to get changed for bed.

"Yeah, well,  _someone_  in this pack has to keep up to date on the supernatural world," Stiles snapped.

Derek paused, shirt halfway off his body, and he pulled it back down before turning to face Stiles again. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Stiles chose to give him the cold shoulder, glaring as he returned to his book. Derek was exhausted and didn't have the patience to deal with whatever the fuck this was about, so he continued to their bedroom and stripped down, tugging on a pair of sweatpants. He did a few breathing exercises to calm himself, breathed in the scent of one of Stiles' shirts to help with the calming aspect, and then returned to the lounge area of the loft a few minutes later.

Stiles had his head resting over the edge of the lounge's armrest and looked to either have a migraine or be contemplating someone's murder, Derek wasn't entirely sure.

"Ready to talk?" Derek asked.

"I'm sick of everyone's stupidity. I have to deal with an insane level of stupid at work - like, seriously, I'm going to fucking slap the next person to ask me where the bathroom is after they've just walked past the fucking  _neon sign_  for the fucking bathrooms! Then I come home and have to deal with even more stupidity because no one knows what the fuck a xyst is, Lydia was smart and didn't answer her phone, and the others can't be bothered to look at a fucking dictionary!"

"What's a Roman garden got to do with anything?" Derek asked as Stiles' vent trailed off.

He was somewhat glad for his degree in Roman and Greek History now.

"Oh,  _thank you!_  Sometimes I forget that you're so fucking smart, and if I wasn't so pissed off, I'd blow you in gratitude, because  _arrghh_ ," Stiles groaned, flopping back over the armrest again.

"I don't know if I should take that as a compliment or not," Derek muttered, shaking his head.

Stiles groaned again, sliding his body back onto the couch to sit up properly. He sighed and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, obviously fighting a migraine now. "I'm sorry, Derek. I shouldn't have snapped at you. I'm just... I'm just so  **tired**  with everything right now, and I took my frustration out on you. I'll sleep on the couch if you want me to."

"You sleeping on the couch isn't going to help your mood at all. Come on; time to put the book down and come to bed. Whatever this is can be dealt with tomorrow after we've both slept, okay?" Derek said, not taking no for an answer as he tugged Stiles off the couch and guided him to the bedroom.

Stiles muttered something under his breath about a Chimera that Derek just  **did not**  want to know about right then. He pulled Stiles' shirt off, working his hands over his shoulders and back firmly, easing the tension in his body slowly but surely. By the time he finished a few minutes later, Stiles was soft and pliant, and let Derek undress him to his briefs. Stiles sighed and kissed Derek gently, thanking him without words, before pulling Derek over to the bed. Curling up facing each other, Derek and Stiles kissed languidly, arms stroking and touching lightly. They fell asleep that way, with Stiles' lips still pressed against Derek's neck as sleep claimed them, wrapped up in each other.

The next morning, Stiles and Derek woke up to find the Chimera already dealt with by Erica, Boyd, and Lydia. They thanked the other three, not complaining in the slightest, and then deservedly spent the rest of the day in bed.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading!


	15. Braggart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek's not a fan of being tortured, but it's a fact of his life that he's adjusted to. Having Stiles tortured in front of him is another matter entirely.

Derek wasn't a fan of being tied to a fence and tortured via electrocution, but unfortunately, in his life, it seemed that this exact thing happened often enough that he could adjust to the pain, excruciating though it was. Most times he was tortured on his own, but sometimes his uncle was hanging right there on the fence beside him. Derek usually loathed the people torturing him, but he got a sick kind of pleasure from listening to Peter scream because he just  **knew**  that Laura would have  _screamed_  while Peter  _cut her the fuck in half_.

Right now, however, he's faced with a rather new development in his torture experience. He's been water boarded, electrocuted within an inch of his wolf's life, physically maimed, and even emotionally manipulated to the point where the woman he thought he'd loved killed his entire fucking family. This, however, is worse than all of that. Because this is his mate, his very  **human**  mate (one that's apparently too stubborn to accept the bite), and Stiles is in front of him and screaming in pain.

Being forced to see Stiles beaten and hit, hearing his ribs creak under the pressure, the blood congealing under his skin to form bruises, smell the blood as those bruises become scrapes, it's all too much for Derek to handle. He's wolfed out and snarling, pulling on the cuffs around his wrists, and though he can smell his own blood seeping down his arms from the damage he's doing, Derek can't feel a thing. He's too focused on Stiles screaming and laughing and taunting their fucking captors because - of course! - what the fuck  **else**  would Stiles do while confronted with a psychotic bastard with a hard fist and a sharp knife?

"You'll  _talk_ , boy. I make  _everyone_  talk," the knifeman snarled.

"You! You're... such... a fuck- ... fucking... braggart," Stiles breathed, laughing between each laboured gasp for air.

There was a slight pause of confusion -  _great, they'd been captured by a thug with no knowledge of simple Shakespearian insults_  - then the thug lowered his knife, sneering over at Derek as he sliced into Stiles' arm.

"Ow-ow-ow-ow- _owwww!_   _Fuck_ , at least give some warning before you go slicing me up like a turkey!" Stiles groaned.

The thug returned his attention back to Stiles, obviously surprised at how steady his voice sounded. Derek just grinned because this is his favourite part. Stiles straightened up slowly, his eyes glowing white, and he smirked at the thug.

"Now that you've purposely spilled my blood,  _please,_  allow me to return the favour," Stiles snarled.

The guy dropped to his knees, various thin slices appearing across his body, blood seeping through his clothes as he screamed in a mix of pain and fear. It's a heady scent, and Derek's body shudders as he breathed it in. Stiles shook his hands, the ropes around his wrists falling off like they were made of silk, and grinned at Derek as he made his way over, the thug still screaming behind him.

"They should really know better by now, don't you think?" Stiles asked with a sigh, touching the fence.

The thick iron cuffs around Derek's wrists simply melted away and he dropped to his feet soundlessly. He didn't reply, wrapping his arms around Stiles as he felt his wounds start to close up.

"Of course, if we actually left any alive after they attempted doing stupid things like this, maybe word would get around more," Stiles mused, licking one of the rapidly closing wounds on Derek's neck.

"But that would mean letting one live. This guy doesn't even know Shakespeare, so we can't let _him_ go," Derek muttered.

Stiles hummed, pulling back as he contemplated Derek's words. Then he smirked broadly, his eyes glowing white again. "You're absolutely right. We cannot let such an uncultured swine to live."

Stiles pulled Derek in for a kiss that would have been deemed inappropriate had it been seen by others. Behind him, there was a gurgling noise as the man's blood stopped seeping out of his wounds and instead redirected into his throat, airway, and lungs. He had choked to death on his own blood before Stiles pulled away from Derek, licking his lips.

"Come on, Derek. Let's go home," Stiles murmured, stepping over the dead body calmly as he lead Derek out of the warehouse.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading!


	16. Gnomist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott mishears something that Stiles says and comes crashing into Derek's apartment when Derek's getting ready for bed. Stiles tries to rectify the situation, and ends up in hospital thanks to his Alpha best friend.

"Where are they?" Scott asked, skidding to a halt in the entrance of Derek's loft, claws and fangs extended.

"Where's who?" Derek asked, frowning.

He was in the process of getting ready for bed, his toothbrush hanging in his grip loosely, and sweatpants slung low on his hips. He raised an eyebrow at Scott, who looked around the loft suspiciously, sniffing slightly.

There was a crashing sound behind Scott, and he spun around with a roar, coming face to face with Stiles who eeped in response.

"Geez, Scott. You didn't let me finish! You'd think with all of your werewolf hearing you'd actually realise your phone was ringing this whole damn time," Stiles muttered, shaking his head.

"Would either of you care to explain what's going on here?" Derek demanded.

Stiles finally turned his attention to Derek, and his eyes widened at the sight of Derek standing there looking positively debauched. " _Uhhh_..."

"You said gnomes," Scott hissed, nudging Stiles sharply in the ribs.

Stiles hissed in pain, rubbing his side with a wince. Derek took a step forward - Scott still didn't realise how strong he could be sometimes - but Stiles shook his head.

"I said  _gnomist_ , dude. Y'know the saying:  _power tends to corrupt, absolute power corrupts absolutely_? It was meant to be like that.  _Hotness tends to corrupt, absolute hotness corrupts absolutely_ ," Stiles muttered, obviously trying to keep his voice low but Derek still heard.

He raised an eyebrow slightly at the glance Stiles flicked his way, the gesture deepening when Stiles blushed.

"But you were talking about De... Ohhhhh."

Scott's drawn out response had Derek's eyebrows burrowing together, and he doubted that he wanted to know any more than he'd already heard.

"Now that you get it, can you take me to the hospital? I think you broke my ribs," Stiles groaned.

Scott looked between Stiles and Derek, obviously calculating something in his head, because the grin that spread across his face a moment later had Derek wincing. Stiles must have seen it too because he tried to straighten up and play off the pain, but he gasped and clutched his side before he could say anything, Derek ran forward to grab him when Scott didn't move, and he glared at him.

"Derek's Camaro will get you to the hospital faster than my bike. Take care of him, Derek," Scott called, leaving before either one could protest.

"I'mma kill him. Gonna make a bat out of wolfsbane, shove it down his throat and asphyxiate him. I know you can hear me, Scott!" Stiles called, ending with a whimper.

Faint laughter was the only response. Derek helped Stiles up carefully and made him lean against the doorframe while he hurried to get changed. The drive to the hospital was quiet except for Stiles' whimpers of pain when they went over a bump in the road.

Melissa saw to Stiles straight away, sending him off for an x-ray while Derek stayed in the waiting room. She called for Derek when Stiles was finished, hopped up on pain medication with two cracked ribs.

"He'll be fine in a few weeks, but the medication should help with any pain. If he has any difficulty breathing, let me know straight away," Melissa instructed, pressing a prescription for Stiles in Derek's hand. "Are you able to look after him? The Sheriff's out of town tonight, and Stiles was meant to be staying at my house, but as Scott did this to him, I'd rather he was with someone trustworthy," she added, frowning slightly.

"All right," Derek said, surprised that she trusted him.

"Thank you, Derek. Stiles, you be good for Derek, all right?" Melissa said sternly.

"I'll be an angel," Stiles said, grinning up at Derek dopily.

Derek sighed and guided Stiles out to his car carefully. "Can you put your own belt on, Stiles?"

"Think so. Not rocket science. But there  _are_  three belts. This is some good stuff," Stiles murmured, closing his eyes and sighing contently.

Derek sighed and put Stiles' belt on for him. Stiles seemed to come out of his stupor when Derek got in the driver's seat and closed the door.

"I was gonna call you an' ask you out this weekend, y'know," Stiles admitted, yawning widely. "If you said no, then Scott was gonna be there for me with ice cream an' double stuffed Oreos. Not that I would've told him  _why_  he needed ice cream and Oreos, but he wouldn't've asked. He's nice like that. Well, except when he's not," Stiles murmured, blinking owlishly and resting his head against the window.

"Yeah, except then," Derek muttered, rolling his eyes. "You can ask me out when you're not hopped up on pain medication, okay? I'll even say yes."

Stiles snored loudly in response, his face squished against the passenger window. Derek tried not to grin at the sight and turned the car on to head home slowly, trying not to disturb his passenger.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading!


	17. Embroil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A war is raging, with monsters on one side and Stiles' friends on the other.

Stiles surveyed the scene before him, a twisted grin on his lips as he watched his friends fight - probably to their deaths. He had waited so long for this; for years he had been shoved to the side, remembered only as an afterthought, and now, now he was _finally_ going to be seen - _remembered_ \- for what he truly was. He watched as the chaos unfolded, monsters unlike any had seen before pouring forth from the Nemeton's split trunk, and with a single thought, the army of monsters waged a war against his friends.

Derek was embroiled in the madness, and slowly made his way up the hill to where Stiles stood beside the Nemeton. His fangs were bared, eyes glowing blue, and his claws were covered in blood.

_Probably Kira's_ , Stiles thought with a smile.

"Stiles!" Scott screamed, and he glanced over to him, head cocked to the side. "Why are you doing this?!" Scott demanded, trying to get away from a minotaur.

"Because I woke up screaming every single night for a whole year. I had nightmares about the future - this future, in fact - after we defeated the Darach. It was _long_ before the nogitsune came along, and I told you _time and time again_ that I was losing my mind, but you didn't listen. Even after the nogitsune was gone, the nightmares kept on coming. You even saw that the darkness around my heart was so much worse than yours; I know you did - I saw it every day in your eyes when you thought I wasn't looking - but still, you didn't offer to help me.

"You had Kira and she was all that mattered to you. Derek saw though, and he offered to help me. Sure, in the beginning, he thought he'd be able to help me redeem myself, but we both soon saw the mistake in that. His darkness matched mine, and he and I both realised that _nothing_ we did would ever be good enough for the rest of you.

"Then, one morning, I didn't wake up screaming. I'd had the same nightmare that I'd had for the past year, but it was no longer something to be afraid of. It became a dream instead. So, to answer your question: I'm doing this because I want to be true to myself and my dreams," Stiles said, sarcasm lacing his words.

Behind Scott, the minotaur raised up on its back legs, crushing down on him forcefully, and started tearing at his flesh.

Derek snorted, shaking his head. "A touch melodramatic, don't you think, Stiles?"

"Like you can talk; I saw what you did to Peter."

"True. It's been a long time coming though," Derek snarled, looking down to the battlefield where the individual pieces of his uncle were scattered.

Stiles pressed a kiss to Derek's lips and then guided him through the fray and back into battle.

...

Stiles woke up to his alarm blaring in his ear, and he slammed on it with a sleep-heavy hand, blinking wearily as he sat up and rubbed at his eyes. He yawned, stretched, and scratched as he headed downstairs.

"Hey, you're up. I was just about to come check up on you," John said with a smile.

"Morning. Must've overslept," Stiles murmured, sliding onto his chair at the kitchen bench.

John just nodded, putting a bowl of cereal in front of Stiles and watching as he ate it slowly, obviously still waking up.

"Deaton left another message on the answering machine; he really wants to start your training as soon as possible. Not saying you have to go today, but just... think about it, all right?" he asked, hoping he wasn't pushing the topic again.

Stiles nodded slowly, stirring his Cheerios as he chewed a mouthful.

"Derek called as well. He wants you to drop by the loft this afternoon if you're able; said he's got something to discuss with you?" John added, hoping for a bit more detail from his son.

"Probably forgot how to put phone numbers on his phone, if he called the house," Stiles muttered, rolling his eyes.

John was reluctant to change the topic, especially when Stiles seemed so calm, but he just _had_ to ask. "So... You overslept; must've been a good sleep then? No nightmares?"

Stiles' spoon clattered to the bench, and he stared at his father in shock. "What?"

"You didn't wake up screaming," John replied, already wishing that he hadn't said a thing. "First time in a year, right?"

"Right. Of course... It's been a whole year," Stiles echoed. He looked up at John abruptly, startling him though John didn't show it. "I'll go to Deaton's today; I really shouldn't put off training anymore. And I'll go by Derek's this afternoon, see what he wants," he added.

John smiled genuinely, clapping Stiles on the shoulder warmly. "So, you dreamed something, then?" he asked, getting a nod in return. "Was I in it?" he asked with a chuckle, heading over to the door to leave for his shift at the police station.

"Yes, actually; everyone was in it."

"Must've been some dream," John called, pulling his jacket on.

"Oh, it was. I dreamed about the future," Stiles said, a twisted grin on his lips.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading!


	18. Sparge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles worships the earth after gardening in his greenhouse. (Pure fluff.)

Stiles sat back on his heels, wiping his sweaty forehead as he looked over to the clock hanging on the greenhouse wall. It's almost one, and he'd been gardening since eight that morning. Stiles was pleased with the work he'd done so far. Wolfsbane seeds were sparged across the soil beds, and by mid-year, he should have enough shoots to fill orders for both Deaton and Lydia.

Standing, he pulled off his gardening gloves and went outside, breathing in the fresh air. He loved his greenhouse, but it could get seriously hot in there, the air damp and wet. Stiles breathed in deeply a few more times, eyes closed and face turned up to the midday sun.

"Finished worshipping the earth, or do you need some more time?" Derek called, grinning at him.

"Depends on whether you want to join me or not," Stiles answered, a grin tugging on his lips.

Derek didn't answer, but a few seconds later, Stiles felt arms wrapping around his waist. He smiled and leaned back against Derek, head resting on his shoulder.

"It's a nice day today," Stiles murmured.

"You say that even if it's raining," Derek replied, albeit fondly, pressing a kiss below Stiles' ear.

"Just because it's raining doesn't mean it's not a nice day," he said, then frowned. "Is that a double negative? Meh, you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do. I should be worried," Derek said, a low chuckle tickling Stiles' neck.

"Mmm, I'm finished worshipping the earth now. Let's go inside, we'll have lunch and then I'll worship you instead."

"Let's stay outside a while longer; I like seeing you like this after you've been gardening," Derek admitted, nose pressed against Stiles' sweaty neck.

Stiles tilted his head to the side so Derek could continue scenting him, smiling as he laced their fingers together, toes buried in the soft grass below, the sun shining down on them warmly, and the trees swaying in the soft wind.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading!


	19. Prate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has a special ability to drive Derek insane.

Stiles has a special ability to drive Derek absolutely insane. He talks constantly, as if he has no filter on his thoughts and simply has to say everything that comes to mind. The things he comes up with can range from complete and utter nonsense to a sharp razor wit laced with sarcasm, and sometimes, Stiles even says something that's useful and could actually be considered wise. Right now, however, Stiles is prating on about something that is definitely not wise nor useful.

"Hey, sourwolf! Are you even listening to me?"

"Yes, Stiles. You're talking about demons eating salted popcorn."

"What's that face for? You don't think it'd work?" Stiles asks, eyes wide.

"It's a TV show, Stiles, what I think is irrelevant."

"Ugghhhh. No, it's not! What you think  _matters to me_. Now, do you think it'd be enough to drive a demon out or not?"

Derek sighs, wishing he'd never agreed to marathon this damn show with Stiles in the first place. But, as insane as Stiles can drive him, there's not much he can say no to when Stiles gets that look on his face. (Or he's naked, and Stiles  _knows_  that, damn him.)

"It wouldn't work because they need a lot of salt to exorcise themselves from a host. You saw that woman eating bags of rock salt after giving birth to the Antichrist; I doubt a bucket of popcorn's going to do much."

Stiles kind of stares at him for a moment, Derek's little speech being processed in his mind. Then he grins. "That's awesome. I knew you were paying attention to the show!"

Derek puts his arm around Stiles' shoulders, pulling his boyfriend in close. Stiles smiles at him broadly and snuggles in closer, turning his attention back to the TV as Derek presses play on the remote. The opening credits for the show aren't even finished when Stiles shifts on the lounge and looks up at Derek, biting his lip as his eyes widen on purpose, the brat.

"Derek? Can you get me some popcorn?" Stiles asks.

Derek groans, his head hitting the back of the couch. He shoves Stiles off the couch unceremoniously on his way to the kitchen, ignoring his yelp of surprise.

"Love you too, sourwolf!" Stiles calls, grinning.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading!


	20. Foray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Scott break into Derek's loft to steal something. Scott leaves Stiles there on his own, and then Derek arrives home early.

"We shouldn't be here, Stiles. Derek's going to kill us for this," Scott hissed, ever the voice of reason.

"No, he's going to kill  **me**  for this. You can do your eye glow and growl thing at him and he'll back down for you. Don't worry, it'll be a quick foray; we'll just be straight in and out," Stiles added over his shoulder, opening the door and walking into the loft.

Scott winced but followed after him quickly.  _Someone had to save Stiles from himself_.

"So what are we looking for anyway?" Scott hissed at Stiles.

"Dunno; I just know there's something in here that I want."

"Gee,  _that helps_!"

"Don't do sarcasm, Scotty. That's my thing," Stiles said absent-mindedly, flicking through Derek's limited CD collection before moving over to the bookcase, his head tilted to read the spines better.

"I can't believe you dragged me out here to do this and you don't even know what you want. I'm leaving, dude, you can get your throat torn out on your own," Scott hissed.

"Fine, be that way. Say hi to Kira for me," Stiles called, waving him off.

Scott's eyes widened incredulously.  _If Stiles didn't care about him staying, then **fine.**  Whatever consequences he faced would be on Stiles' own head_, Scott decided, leaving the loft at a run.

Stiles hummed under his breath softly, making his way through the loft systematically, prying into things that were closed, opening doors, and rummaging through drawers.

The door opened and Stiles went still in the bathroom, glancing out of the doorway only to see Derek standing there looking aghast at the state of his apartment. Stiles winced and shut the bathroom door slowly, hoping it would take Derek a while to find him so he could figure out an escape plan. A low growl of annoyance filtered in from outside the bathroom door and Stiles held his breath as if he thought  _that_  would help.

"I know you're in there, Stiles. I recognise your heartbeat, you little shit. Now open the door," Derek growled.

"Or what, you'll huff and puff and blow it down?" Stiles called, trying not to grin too broadly at his own joke. (C'mon, that was totally funny.)

"Oh, I'll be blowing something, but it won't be you. You said you wouldn't touch the CDs," Derek whined.

Stiles opened the bathroom door with a glare. "You said you'd pick the girls up from school; Scott had to call me at work to come get them. Now stop breaking character."

Derek crowded into the bathroom before Stiles could close the door on him, pressing Stiles up against the sink.

"I already apologised for that, Stiles. You know I'm sorry about forgetting to pick them up," Derek murmured, sounding so utterly sad and miserable that Stiles' anger cracked.

"They were excited to have you pick them up; you rarely get the chance to do it anymore," Stiles said, sighing heavily.

"You think I wasn't excited too? I even had the Frozen soundtrack ready to go in the CD player," Derek said, making Stiles grin a bit. "I couldn't help that there was a fire, and if I'd remembered about the girls, I swear I would've called you or your Dad to pick them up. I'm really sorry, Stiles."

"Oh, fine, stop with the sad puppy eyes already. You're killing me here," he muttered, pulling Derek in for a firm kiss. "You'll be apologising to the Holly and Missy when we get them back tomorrow afternoon, and promising to pick them up at least three times next week, got it?"

Derek nodded firmly. "I'll set an alarm so I remember, even if there is an emergency," he added.

"Good idea. Now, since this roleplay's gone downhill, I think you should take me to our room and fuck me senseless."

"But the CDs..."

"Can wait until tomorrow," Stiles said, rolling his hips up against Derek's firmly.

"Yes,  _definitely_. Tomorrow," Derek agreed quickly, holding Stiles up to kiss him properly.

Stiles grinned against his lips and wrapped his legs around Derek's waist, urging him to the bedroom as soon as possible.

Derek paid his penance multiple times over that night and, while Stiles would never admit it, probably for any future misdemeanours for the next three months as well.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading!


	21. Ambulant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is in the hospital while the others are out fighting.

" _I don't care_ , all right? If I'm ambulant enough to walk through the hospital without help, then I can be doing the same thing out in the woods," Stiles hissed, trying to stamp down on his guilt at saying this to Melissa of all people.

"Don't even think that you're going to leave this hospital before you're ready, Stiles! You may think you are, but you're only able to walk due to the amount of pain killers I've pumped into you."

"Then give me a prescription and let me back out there! I can't leave them to die."

"No, Stiles. You'll just have to believe that they'll be fine, and trust them to come back in one piece, okay? You're not the only one that's waiting," she added, her jaw clenching slightly as she thought of her son being out there with a rogue Alpha on the loose.

"Yeah, I know. But I need to get back out there; the Alpha might be killing them," Stiles said, pleading and wishing she'd let him leave.

"I'm not that bad at fighting, am I?" Derek asked, grinning over at Stiles.

Stiles breath caught in his chest when he saw the red glow to Derek's eyes, and then his heart felt like it stopped completely when he saw the amount of blood on Derek's shirt.

"I'm all right; it's not mine," Derek promised, even as Stiles ran over, fingers clenched in his shirt and trying to find the wound.

"You're sure? 'Cause you know how long it takes for an Alpha wound to heal," Stiles replied, his voice choking up as he rested his head on Derek's shoulder.

"I know, Stiles. That Alpha will never hurt you again, I promise," Derek murmured, rubbing his back gently.

"I'll leave you two boys to it. I presume Scott's okay?" Melissa asked, her hand gentle on Derek's forearm.

"He went home with Kira to make sure she would be all right, but yes, he's fine," Derek said, not letting go of Stiles.

She thanked him with a smile and left the hospital room quietly, closing the door behind her.

Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek even tighter, burying his face against his shoulder. He said something, the words so soft and muffled that Derek couldn't hear it.

"What was that, Stiles?" Derek asked, rubbing soothing lines up and down his spine.

Stiles pulled away to look at him, and Derek was struck by the seriousness that was held in his gaze.

"Will you be my Alpha, Derek?" Stiles asked, voice firm and certain, his eyes flashing gold.

Derek felt a sense of relief at Stiles' question; it was one that he hadn't expected but had desperately wished for, even though he had never acknowledged that wish aloud. Derek had thought that Stiles would want Scott as his Alpha.

"Yes, I'll be your Alpha, Stiles," Derek replied, just as firm and certain as his brand new Beta.

_I'll be anything you want me to be_.

Stiles grinned, as if he heard the unspoken words as well, and bared his neck to his Alpha without a single moment of hesitation. Derek accepted his submission with bared fangs and red eyes, but his mouth was soft and reverent as he pressed a kiss to the already-healing wound on Stiles' neck.

The next morning, Melissa wasn't entirely surprised to find the room was empty, and Stiles and Derek were gone.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading!


	22. Beget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles have discussed this before: when their children are being monsters, they're Derek's; when they're being smart-asses, they're Stiles'. There's really no in between with Holly and Missy.

"Derek! Get your lazy butt out of bed and help me down here!"

Stiles doubts that his yelling has even stirred Derek, especially since the noise from their two and four year old terrors hasn't woken him yet. Sighing, Stiles leaves the girls to their tantrums and stomps upstairs. He flings the bedroom door open, glaring in the general direction of the bed. The room is too dark for him to see anything, so he flicks the light switch, and then proceeds to glare at Derek even more. The noise of the tantrums filter into the room, and Derek sits up quickly, alert and thinking of danger. (Stiles feels a bit bad about that, but he's been dealing with the girls for the last three hours, and he  _knew_  that they shouldn't have soundproofed their room, dammit.)

"What's wrong?" Derek asks, eyes glowing blue and claws extended, the wolf ready to attack and defend his family and pack.

"Your daughters are attempting to redecorate the living room with crayons and their claws. I can't get either of them to settle; I swear my Dad's cursed them to be just like me when I was younger, and I don't know what I did to deserve this fresh hell," Stiles mutters, folding his arms over his chest.

" **My**  daughters? I thought they were all yours?" Derek replies, grinning slightly as his wolf slips away.

He stretches, arms rising above his head, and Stiles forgets his retort as his husband's abs are revealed, his biceps flexing with the stretch, and he remembers placing several bites on that stomach just last night. Then a particularly loud screech comes from downstairs, and Stiles' glower returns in full force.

"They're yours when they're being little monsters," he mutters. "You beget the monsters; the smart-ass gene's mine."

"Right; I'll remember that the next time they try to swindle their way out of something. Or into it," Derek mutters, shaking his head and getting out of bed.

"Come on, before they destroy the couch again," Stiles says, grabbing Derek's hand and tugging him downstairs.

"Holly, Missy! Put the crayons down right now!" Derek demands, and the assbutt doesn't even have to wolf out on them for their daughters to do as he says immediately, their bottom lips wavering.

"We're drawing, Daddy!" Missy says, glancing over to the bright moon she's drawn on the wall, above the small forest Holly's depicted.

"We just wanted to bring the forest in here, 'cause you and Papa both like the full moon, and we only see it once a month," Holly adds, eyes wide as she looks up at them.

They both know they're being played, that Holly's most likely thought the entire argument through -  _Stiles is **definitely**  the one to blame for that_, Derek thinks to himself - and while they know that, it doesn't stop them falling for it. Stiles caves first, cursing himself and his inability to resist puppy eyes, and pulls Holly and Missy in for a hug.

"You're both cleaning the wall. Then we'll get some paper for you to draw on properly, okay?" Stiles suggests, both girls nodding against his chest.

"Okay, Papa," Holly says, sounding demure enough.

Derek sighs and kneels beside his family, pulling all three of them on to his lap. Stiles moves his head to kiss Derek, grinning when Holly squeals something about them being  _so gross_.

"Yep!" Stiles admits happily, kissing Holly all over her face until she's squealing in laughter in his arms.

Missy squirms until Derek picks her up, tucking her under his arm as she giggles in delight. He grins and heads to the laundry to get a bucket of warm water, soap, and cleaning cloths.

They spend most of the morning cleaning the walls of Holly and Missy's handiwork, and go outside to empty the buckets in the backyard. Stiles and Holly have obviously been conspiring together while Derek's been singing along to the radio's cheesy 80's songs and making Missy laugh. The two traitors initiate a water fight by pouring a bucket of water on Derek's head. He's left there spluttering for half a minute before he chases after them with his own bucket, Missy toddling after them armed with a wet cloth and roaring.

Stiles just laughs when he's pounced on, and pulls Derek to the ground with Holly and Missy jumping on the pile a moment later. Derek noses against Stiles' neck, breathing in his scent, and Holly curls up against their entwined legs, Missy moving to squirm in between their arms. Stiles presses a kiss to the top of her head, and they all fall asleep on the grass, sun shining down on them and drying their wet clothes.

It's totally worth the grass rash Stiles gets on his legs afterwards.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading!


	23. Gallinipper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is dying. Derek's not exactly sympathetic.

"I'm  _dying_ , Derek! It's okay, just leave me here to die. Go on without me, and live a full and happy life."

"It's a mosquito bite, Stiles."

"Shut up; I could have malaria or something. Look at the size of this thing. I'm obviously allergic, and I'm going to die a slow and painful death."

"I'd be okay with that if it was a  _quiet_ , slow, and painful death."

"No such luck. This particular gallinipper brings out all of the painful and loudest screams from humans like myself. It's going to take  _hours_  for me to die; possibly even days! And you'll be right beside me listening to every word that passes my lips, won't you?"

"Like hell I will; I'm dumping your ass on the side of the road and getting out of town."

"Aww, I thought you loved me?"

" _Loved_ , past tense. No present or future tense when you're being a dick."

Stiles snorts. "I thought you loved my dick too."

"Don't unzip your pants, Stiles!"

"Why not? I'm pretty sure semen helps cure the sting of a mosquito bite. Probably, at least... Eh, it can't hurt more than it already does."

"Oh god, you're serious, aren't you?"

"Well, you're not helping me, so yeah. Damn little bastard had to bite my wanking hand. Hold this for me?"

"Stiles! I'm trying to drive. Put your dick back in your pants before we get pulled over."

"We won't get pulled over; you're a very safe driver. C'mon, I trusted you to keep driving while I gave you a blow job last week."

"I almost crashed into a minivan, Stiles. We're not doing this."

"If you take a left here, we can be at Makeout Point in five minutes."

"It's a lookout; it's not called Makeout Point."

"It could be called Fuck Me Point if you turned down the road."

" _Goddammit_ , Stiles."

"What're you doing?"

"Making a left turn."

"Oh,  _really?_ "

"Shut up."

"Okay, but you're going to have to suck the poison out of my hand before we do anything. That mosquito's probably out there laughing at my slow demise."

"You're a dork."

"You love me."

"Yeah, I do. Now will you put your dick away already?"

"Nope. Look at him; he's howling to the moon, just like you do!"

"Oh god, I've changed my mind. I hate you."

Stiles just laughs and proves him wrong.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading!


	24. Flak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unbeknownst to his pack, it's Alpha Stiles' birthday. Derek finds out.

"You'd better keep running, Derek! You've only done thirteen laps so far, and you promised me twenty! Now work those legs!"

"Yes, Alpha," Derek ground out, glowering over at his Alpha (while he was out of sight; he wasn't stupid).

"Good. And don't think I didn't feel that glare," Stiles called with a smirk.

"How's he do that?" Scott muttered beside Derek, both Betas evenly matched as they sprinted along the forest trail.

Derek honestly had no idea and just shrugged in response. On the other side of Scott, Isaac seemed to seriously contemplate the question.

"Maybe Alpha's have eyes in the back of their heads?" he suggested.

"Really, boys? Eyes in the back of his head? Have you  _seen_  Stiles' head?" Erica pointed out, rolling her eyes at them and putting on an extra burst of speed to get passed them and catch up to Boyd.

As if in silent agreement, the three men decided to speed up as well, and they all started running faster.

"It's not a race, guys! It's to test your endurance and stamina; keep it steady!" Stiles called.

"Yes, Alpha!" they chorused, obligingly slowing down, though a small amount.

"Scott, Isaac, you're done for the day," Stiles called on the next lap.

Boyd and Erica's car was no longer there, so they must have finished as well. Isaac and Scott gave Derek a brief look of sympathy, but still left him to do his final five laps. He didn't mind running on his own, it helped him clear his head. For the final lap, Stiles took a place beside him, running at his slower pace easily. They finished in silence, and Derek took a minute to breathe deeply before straightening to provide Stiles with his report for the day.

"I don't want to deal with your flak today, all right, Derek? Just save it up for tomorrow, and you can hit me with a double whammy then. Deal?"

"Yes, Alpha. Is... is everything all right?"

"Yeah, fine. A guy deserves a break on his birthday, right?" Stiles joked, grinning a broad and over-the-top fake grin.

Derek faltered slightly; he hadn't realised that it was Stiles' birthday. It was the first one since Stiles' father had been killed by a rogue Alpha; as such, it was almost a full year since Stiles had hunted the Alpha across California to Beacon Hills and killed it, leeching its power for his own. He wasn't a wolf, not exactly, but he was no longer human either. Yet, he had proved that he still had all the abilities an Alpha did, including the ability to turn people into werewolves. He'd turned a few teenagers from the local high school with their permission, of course, and Derek found himself drawn to the red-eyed young man that  _burned_.

Stiles had decided to stay, even enrolling in the school to stay with the majority of his pack. Despite being in town for a year, no one had any idea of what he was; if they did, they kept it to themselves. It was of little consequence anyway, because everyone that came before Stiles - whether to pledge allegiance or to challenge him - soon found themselves submitting to him instead. (An entire pack of Alphas had been subdued in this way and sent on their way. Derek was glad when they were gone; someone could have died if they'd had to fight them.)

Hesitantly, Derek reached out and grabbed Stiles' forearm gently. Stiles was distracted by the zipper on his duffel bag and didn't see him move. They both knew that Stiles didn't like to be touched, and despite it just being the two of them, now was apparently no exception. Stiles' eyes filled with the Alpha red glow as he hissed and snatched his arm away.

"What the fuck, Derek?!"

"Sorry, Alpha," he said, contrite and immediately looking down at his feet, away from his Alpha's red eyes. "I want to take you out for dinner; it's your birthday."

"You don't have to do that, Derek," Stiles muttered, turning away and heading to his Jeep, duffel bag finally zipped and slung over his shoulder.

"Yes, I do.  _Please_ , Alpha."

Stiles sighed softly, the warm rush of air barely audible even to Derek, but he turned to face Derek again, and nodded briefly.

"Fine; let's order Chinese on the way home, we'll stop off and buy a cake - no candles - and then we'll marathon Star Wars. Sound good?"

"It sounds perfect, Alpha," Derek said with a smile.

He moved forward slowly and making his intent clear, Stiles still a bit shocked from his earlier touch. When Stiles gave a minute nod, Derek smiled and pressed a soft kiss to his Alpha's mouth. Stiles was slow in responding to his kiss, but when he did, Derek's toes curled against the forest floor. He relaxed into Stiles' touch, his Alpha's fingers firm on his shoulders.

His Alpha had helped him get revenge on the Argent family, and there was nothing Derek wouldn't do for Stiles, Alpha or not. It seemed that Stiles was the only one that didn't believe that, no matter how many times Derek tried to tell him otherwise. Tonight, Derek hoped that he could  _show_  Stiles what he meant to him instead.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading


	25. Epithalamion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is drunk and announces that he and Derek are going to get married.

"Derekkkkk!"

The slurred voice is far too familiar for Derek's liking at three in the damn morning, but the owner of said slurred voice doesn't seem to be concerned with Derek's 'you'd better be dead or you will be soon' expression. In fact, Stiles just grins at him a little goofily and sidles past him into the loft.

"We're gonna get married; I've told Scott, and that means it's gotta happen now. That's the way it works, y'know. Tell Scott something, and it happens. For real, every time."

Derek's dealt with Stiles' drunken ass over the years enough times to be able to translate that mess of slurring speech into something coherent at least. It's the first time in a long time that he's seen Stiles this plastered though, Derek can admit that. He sighs and goes to his bedroom to get his phone; Scott should've been with Stiles tonight.

"Hey, Derek. I want... I wanna have sex! With your dick," Stiles clarifies loudly. "Like, forever. Except not at the wedding. Or the reception. That'd be weird. And we'd miss Scott's epi--epithalamion. He promised he'd sing, and we even started writing the song. Wanna hear?"

"Stiles, no. You can't sing,  _don't even try_ ," Derek groans, wishing that Scott would pick up his damn phone already. "Scott, where the fuck are you? Stiles is here as drunk as a skunk, and you were meant to be looking after him tonight, you jerk." He ends the voicemail on a sigh and hangs up.

"Derek! I'm thinking about sex again. When we get married, you'll make sure I don't think about sex, won't you?"

Derek figures it's probably better to humour Stiles while he's like this. Besides, he has no desire to deal with a drunk and crying Stiles again - it dehydrates him even worse than usual, and Derek knows Stiles will be as grumpy as all hell if he wakes up like that again.

"Come on, Stiles. Let's get you some water and juice, then get you in bed, okay?"

"For the sex?"

"Yes, Stiles, for the sex," he lies.

He knows that Stiles will be asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, so Derek doesn't feel too bad about lying. He manages to get a glass of water and two orange juices in Stiles before leading him to bed. Stiles decides that being drunk and talking dirty is a good idea, and Derek is hard as a rock by the time they make it to his bedroom. Fucking hell; Stiles might fall asleep, but now Derek's going to be awake picturing what he detailed, and this is not how he wanted to spend his night, fuck it all.

Stiles kisses Derek in a way that feels purely obscene, and he wonders where the hell he learnt that tongue move, even as his knees go weak at the action. Then, as predicted, after Stiles throws his jacket to the corner of the room and gets on the mattress, he falls right asleep. Derek groans and adjusts his sweatpants, telling himself very sternly that he's going to hell for taking advantage of a drunk Stiles. He settles in beside Stiles, wrapping an arm around his waist to make sure he won't flail off the bed, and tries to will himself to sleep (and his erection to go down. Pressing up against Stiles probably isn't the best way to achieve this, but he can't bring himself to move away).

...

In the morning, Derek wakes up to a high-pitched scream, and Stiles clambering over his body to get out of the bed. Derek groans tiredly, sitting up (his hair sticking up in various directions), and goes to look over at Stiles.

"Ah,  **no!**  No looking at me! I'm all gross and icky. Besides, it's bad luck," Stiles added with a pout.

"Pretty sure that's restricted to brides only, Stiles. And if you'll recall, it's not the first time I've seen you all gross and icky," Derek deadpans, a grin almost on his lips.

"That's not the point," Stiles mutters, patting his pockets and rummaging in his jacket for his phone. "Where the hell was Scott? He was meant to be looking after me. I told him not to let me leave the bar, damn it."

"So, I'll take it you had fun at your bachelor party then?" Derek asks, smirking.

"Yeah. Ginger and Candy showed me this tongue thing that made me all weak just watching them. I'll do it later... Ohh, I already did it, didn't I? God damn it, past me, that was meant to be for sexy times," Stiles mutters.

"It would've been sexy times if you'd stayed conscious," Derek mutters in return, a bit too loud, and Stiles' expression falls completely.

"You mean I fell asleep on sexy times too? Oh, god. I'm officially the worst fiancé ever. Why are you marrying me?"

"We don't have enough time for me to list all of the reasons, Stiles. Let's just stick with the fact that I love you - " Stiles goes  _heart eyes_  here, and Derek ridiculously falls in love with him all over again " - and if you don't get to Lydia's in the next hour, she  _will_  hunt you down."

Stiles looks at the clock beside the bed, wincing as he pulls his jacket on. "Fuck. Who's bright idea was it to have my bachelor party the night before our wedding?" Stiles groans.

"Should've made it a week like I did," Derek counters, grinning.

He gets out of bed and kisses Stiles firmly. Derek even does the tongue thing just to hear what kind of noise Stiles will make (he has all of Stiles' noises catalogued, and knows that anything nearing breathlessness or a whimper is decidedly good); he's not prepared for the pure  _orgasmic_  sound he makes.

 _Fuck it_ , Derek decides,  _Stiles is just going to have to be late for their wedding preparations, even if Lydia will probably kill them both tomorrow_.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if they ever find out what happened to Scott that night; my brainspace says that he was duct taped to a pole somewhere and forgot that he was a very strong werewolf and could get out of said duct tape (wolfsbane alcohol may or may not have been involved).


	26. Garboil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one seems to need Stiles anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Garboil- confusion (Archaic)
> 
> Any spelling mistakes are my own or autocorrect since I wrote this on my phone.

Stiles was disappointed more than anything else. He’s been working on spells, Kira with swords, Allison with her bow and arrow, and the wolves with their claws, but in the end it was a scream that killed the yeti. Lydia was terrifying at the best of times, but after she killed a yeti simply by screaming at it, she became even more so, looking terrified of herself.

In the garboil that followed the yeti’s death, Stiles slipped away from the rest of the pack and headed back to his Jeep. He might not have killed the yeti himself, but they would need to find a way to dispose of it, and he had a long coil of rope in the trunk of his Jeep that could help with that.

By the time it was wrapped around his arm and Stiles made it back to the warehouse, the yeti was already decomposing thanks to a solution Lydia fashioned out of the chemicals left behind. The others looked at him oddly when he turned up with the rope, but Stiles just shrugged and took it back to swap for the first aid kit. 

Kira had stocked up on bandages and antiseptic, dabbing at the wounds on Allison’s side, Erica cleaning one of Boyd’s nastier scrapes. Stiles didn’t even bother making his presence known before turning and going back to his car yet again.

"You are valuable, you know," Derek said, startling Stiles.

"What? I never said I wasn’t!"

"You were thinking it though," he retorted and Stiles couldn’t really argue that. "They only know how to do all of these things because of you, Stiles. Lydia’s been practising her banshee scream for weeks, Kira took a first aid course at the hospital, and if it wasn’t for you, neither one would have ever done that on their own. Lydia would have ignored it, and Kira probably wouldn’t have gone into the hospital unless she was a patient."

Stiles didn’t quite believe Derek, but he spoke so earnestly that it wasn’t difficult to see that Derek believed what he was saying completely and utterly.

"All right then. Thanks," Stiles said, hugging him warmly. "You’re valuable too, y’know," he added, smiling. "And if we weren’t so close to a bunch of werewolves, I’d tell you how," Stiles said with a wink.

Derek grinned - ignoring Isaac’s ‘thank you!’ from the warehouse - and kissed Stiles firmly.

"Pretty sure they all know how to get home without me too," Stiles murmured against Derek’s lips. "Race you home," he said, slipping into the Jeep and turning the car on.

Derek gave him a head start, waiting until he heard the car turning into the main road before he started to run towards their home. Stiles would win, and Derek would come home to be greeted by a trail of still-warm clothes leading him upstairs to their bedroom. Yeah, Stiles was pretty damn valuable to everyone in the pack.

…

The end. 

Thanks for reading!


	27. Peckish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What started out as a snack somehow turned into Stiles cooking enough food for a small army. He has a totally valid reason though.

"You said you were  _peckish_ , Stiles. This? This does not count as peckish! It's beyond peckish and into the ballpark of  _feeding a small army_ ," Derek exclaimed, staring at the mess in the kitchen but not daring to cross the threshold.

Stiles looked up from the oven a little sheepishly, wiping his flour-covered hands on his pants and licking his lips nervously. He looked at the three benches all covered in food and ingredients and winced a little, realising that yeah, he might've gone over the top. Just a tiny bit.

"Well, I thought of eating nuggets for a snack, so I put those in the oven, then I realised we had curly fries, and you can't have nuggets without curly fries, so I put them in too. And then I thought a milkshake would be pretty damn awesome with that too, the milk and salt thing, y'know. And then that made me think of cookies, and we didn't have chocolate chips, so I had to cut up the chocolate by hand, and it got a  _little_  messy. Then I remembered that everyone would be coming over tomorrow, and they'd eat all of the cookies again, so I had to make chocolate cupcakes as well so I could hide the cookies and give them all the cupcakes instead. Did you know we have four different kinds of mixing bowls?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure I can see three of them now," Derek said, sighing.

"Yeah, well I've been trying to clean things along the way, which is probably why you can't see the fourth. I think it's buried under the stack of cutlery. So, uh, we might need another mixing bowl if I'm going to get this apple pie crust done."

"Why exactly do you need apple pie on top of all of this?" Derek asked incredulously.

"Um... Because it's apple pie?" Stiles offered, trying to smile and hope he was forgiven because of his cute boyfriend factor. (It wasn't a high hope, honestly.)

Of course, if he wasn't forgiven now, Stiles knew that Derek had a thing about his mouth, and certain parts of Derek's anatomy in his mouth, and figured he get forgiven later.

The buzz from the oven timer distracted them both for a moment, Stiles hurrying to turn and get the nuggets and fries out, placing the waiting tray of cookies in next.

"If you want to go for a run, I can be finished in here in about an hour," Stiles offered as he stood up and turned to face Derek.

Derek, who was obviously a ninja in his spare time, had come into the kitchen without a fucking noise, and promptly scared the shit out of Stiles, who flailed at his sudden appearance and accidentally smacked him in the face.

"Fuck, Stiles. That stings!"

"Don't sneak up on me like that! You know I don't handle sneaky things well!"

"Yeah, yeah. Hand me the tea towel," Derek said, nodding to the check towel hanging off the oven door.

"Are you going to hit me with it? 'Cause I won't pass it to you then," Stiles said warily, holding the tea towel out of reach.

"No, you dork; I'm going to dry the dishes so you can finish the apple pie crust."

Stiles grinned broadly, kissed him firmly, and smacked the tea towel into Derek's chest. Derek cupped Stiles' ass, then reached around him and grabbed a curly fry off the tray. The look on Stiles' face  _absolutely_  made up for his burnt fingertips.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know about you, but I'm hungry now.


	28. Blithesome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles - and his relationship with Derek - as seen by Malia.  
> (Spoiler-ish for season 4, episode 1)

Even after the nogitsune, Stiles' blithesome nature barely wavers. He portrays cheerfulness like somebody's watching him at every hour of every day, and for the most part, Stiles' paranoia's actually correct. Scott can't watch him, can barely look at him some days; Kira's still unsure of herself within their group, and spends time with Lydia or Scott instead; Derek has disappeared and is refusing to answer Stiles' texts; Peter's gone, but no one really minds about that; his father has to pull extra shifts at the station to cover for the officers that were killed; but Malia has no where else to go, and no one else she wants to spend time with, so she takes it upon herself to stay with Stiles and doesn't stray from his side unless necessary.

While she's learning to control her coyote with Scott, it's Stiles that she takes her social cues from. Malia sees that a cheerful attitude can be applied just as easily as Lydia's makeup; that a joke can cover up worry; that it takes someone close to Stiles - and not just physically - to crack through the walls he's created. Malia realises and understands that she's not the first to crack through those walls - she's simply being given a glimpse because she watches Stiles so often - and it doesn't take her long to see that the worry he hides, the concern he blocks, the reason his entire body seems to vibrate in pure frustration, is due to Derek Hale.

She doesn't remember seeing the man for herself - the first few weeks were hazy, and Malia sometimes wonders if her own father was an illusion - but Stiles acts differently when he's mentioned. He becomes more flamboyant in his arm movements, hiding the trembling of his hands; he leans on tables casually, but there's a small intake of breath that she doesn't even think Scott sees, as if Stiles is trying to catch his breath or hold back from letting his emotions go completely; his words become careful, and while he lets some worry and concern show, it's not as much as he has within him. Malia has seen it for herself, this worry and concern, when Stiles thinks no one's looking, when he's in his room pinning articles and strings to the entire wall of his bedroom. He gets jittery, runs his hands through his hair, his fingers straying back to the photo of Derek more often than not.

Malia is aware that she may seem annoying and clingy towards Stiles, but he was the one who calmed her after she was forced back into her human self; he gave her her first kiss (and impromptu makeout session); and he's treated her normally, rather than fragile glass like her father, or another pack member like Scott. Malia is fairly certain that she would do anything for Stiles, even go so far as to find Derek Hale for him. Then, when he was found, she would make sure that he wouldn't leave Stiles unless absolutely necessary (and even then, no). She wouldn't be able to bear seeing this kind of heartbreak through the cracks in Stiles' walls again.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading.


	29. Clement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is the lead singer of a band. Derek's a radio jockey. They're both fans.

Despite the clement weather, Stiles was anything _but_ mild, temperate, or pleasant right now. He was angry, glaring at everyone from the confines of his hoodie, and Stiles didn't know if he could go back inside the building; _fuck_ his career.

His manager didn't know dick about music, let alone a good venue because the shithole he'd booked them into was in one of the seediest parts of town, and they were in _Las Vegas_. The seediest part of Las Vegas was even seedier than usual, and Stiles doubted they'd have any fans turn up to the fucking gig. There were still a few hours before the show, and somehow, his lead guitarist decided to propose to his drummer and elope. Right there and then.

They'd run off to get married, promising to return before the show, and while Stiles was glad that they'd finally gotten their shit together, he just did _not_ need to spend the rest of their tour dealing with their sappy honeymoon phase. Their sappy dating phase had been bad enough.

His bad day had gotten even worse when Stiles realised that his luggage hadn't been sent to the hotel (although, just because they stuck the word 'hotel' on the sign, it sure as fuck didn't mean it was one; he was going to fire Finstock one day, the cheap bastard), and Stiles was stuck wearing a merchandise shirt and hoodie. Finstock had given them to him, cheerfully adding that the cost would be deducted from Stiles' pay.

If things didn't improve by the time the gig started, Stiles was fairly sure that he might just try to asphyxiate someone with his microphone.

"Oh, hey, nice hoodie. You like _Void_ too?" a voice asked, and Stiles turned on the speaker with a scowl.

His scowl kind of fell through 'cause no matter how pissed he was at his manager, his day, or just the world in general, the level of hotness this guy reached could not be ignored.

"You're a fan?" Stiles asked, glancing over the guy in a not-too-subtle way.

"Yep, ever since 2005 when they were known as _The Oni_ ," he admitted with a slight grin.

"Oh, fuck, don't remind me of that name. Jackson chose it, the douche. Thought it sounded like 'The One' and I had to resist kicking him every time he used it to chat up someone."

"You're part of the band?" the guy asked, slowly realising that he wasn't talking to another fan.

Stiles shrugged and tugged the hood back off his head. "Hey, I'm Stiles," he said, holding out a hand to shake.

The guy stared at him, then his hand, and then shook Stiles' hand firmly.

"Derek. I... Can I just say thank you for getting rid of Lydia? I know you're all still friends and that's really great, but her style of singing really didn't suit the rest of the tone you guys have got going. I mean, she can shriek and scream like nobody's business, that solo in Rip killed, but... Oh, fuck, I can't believe I'm saying this. _Shit_. I'm just going to shut up now because that's probably the worst thing anyone's ever said to you," Derek said, blushing and his ears turning red.

"Huh. Actually, it's one of the smarter things someone's said to me today. And surprisingly honest. You've listened to _Banshee_? Most fans try to boycott Lydia, which I think's stupid, 'cause awesome music is awesome, no matter who's singing it. And yeah, you're right, that solo in Rip killed," Stiles said with a grin.

 _He's hot and he knows his stuff. God dammit. Where've you been all day?! I could've used a good conversation this morning. Or this afternoon. Or any time in between_ , Stiles thought to himself.

"So, you seem to know a lot about me; what do you do, Derek?" he asked curiously.

"I'm a radio jockey for a community radio station. _Hale of a morning_ ," he added, looking a little embarrassed at the mention.

"Oh, I _loved_ that show when I was in California," Stiles said, grinning at him broadly. "I loved that skit you did as the Grumpy Cat, even though no one outside of the booth could actually see your face. Laura cracking up was fucking hilarious though; I swear I laughed more that morning than I had for weeks. Oh, and you should totally serenade the ladies of Beacon Hills again, your voice is like a wet dream come true... Which is probably one of the worst things I've said today; sorry, let me retract that. Hi Derek, I'm a big fan of your show."

Derek seemed surprised that Stiles had even heard of him, let alone his show.

"So, seems like we're both fans? Want to go fanboy with me over coffee?" Stiles offered with a grin.

"Yes. That would be great," Derek said, grinning broadly.

"Cool. When we're done, want to go see Scott get hitched to Isaac?"

" _Fuck yes_ ; I've had a bet running with Laura that they'd tie the knot while on tour, so if they go through with it, she'll owe me $50. Think I can get a photo with them? No one will believe me unless I provide evidence."

"Sure thing, I'm pretty sure they're getting Elvis to marry them, so there'll be ample opportunity to get evidence; mine's leaning more towards blackmail though," Stiles said with a laugh.

Despite his awful day, the night improved a lot. Even with Scott and Isaac being sappy towards each other (their wedding rings proudly on display, and the wedding video playing on the screen behind them), Stiles still made it through the gig without asphyxiating anyone with his mic. He attributed it to Derek being in the front row, singing along with their songs. Stiles winked at Derek when he caught his eye during _Heart Full of Fireflies_ , and he grinned when Derek's ears did that gorgeous blushing thing again. Fanboys, the both of them.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading!


	30. Rident

His entire expression was rident, and all he could do was stare at him in return. They'd been friends for years now, but this was the first time he'd seen him smiling so happily, so genuinely. It had been far too long, in fact; far longer than he would care to admit. He deserved to smile and laugh as much and as often as possible. Their lives just weren't made for that though, and apart from the snarky comments that slipped through the cracks now and then, there seemed to be little cause for happy smiles and pure laughter. Even Scott and Kira's wedding had been somewhat somber, even though the celebrant's expression made them chuckle, the poor woman staring at them in horror, covered in blood, dirt and scratches as they were; Scott just _had_ to propose while they were chasing a swamp monster.

Still, whatever he'd done to make Stiles smile at him so warmly and brightly, Derek resolved to keep doing it every day for the rest of their lives. (Derek suspected that it had something to do with him telling Stiles that he loved him. He was completely right.) 

... 

The end. 

Thanks for reading!


	31. Estivate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek didn't realise that Stiles had moved in.

It took Derek almost four straight weeks to realise that Stiles probably wasn't going to leave his loft. This realisation happened after he'd gone for a run one morning, the hour and weather finally cool enough to do so, and returned to his loft only to discover that it no longer smelled like himself. Well, his scent was still there - it would be difficult to remove it since he'd been living there for years already - but it was intermingled with Stiles' scent so much that Derek actually stood in the entry for a few minutes, wondering when the hell Stiles had moved in without him realising.

"Dude, close the door, you're letting the heat in!" Stiles groaned from the couch.

Still stunned, Derek did as instructed, pulling his shirt off and taking his towel off the coat stand by the door to wipe off the sweat that had gathered mere minutes into his run. Stiles had brought the stand in one day, muttering about sweat stains on the floor, and Derek had to admit, it was easier to clean the floor now that he wasn't sweating all over it.

"What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost? You haven't, have you? If it's Boyd, ignore anything he says about what I did last night!" Stiles said.

Derek blinked, frowning slightly. "What did you do last night?"

"Nothing that needs to be mentioned aloud. Now, what's up?" Stiles asked, hanging over the end of the couch to look at Derek.

"When did you move in? And why didn't I notice?"

"I moved in at the start of summer when I realised your place gets a better breeze than home, duh. And the reason you didn't notice is because I've been giving you pretty damn mind-blowing orgasms nearly every night since then," Stiles quipped with a smirk.

"Can't argue that," Derek muttered to himself, blushing slightly.

He honestly thought the hot weather would deter Stiles' insatiable nature, but even that hadn't been enough. Though there were a significant amount of cool cloths applied to their bodies afterwards, and the cuddling had lessened even though Derek woke up with Stiles draped over him most mornings.

"So, were you planning on telling me?"

"I thought you'd realise I wasn't estivating for the summer by the time winter came around and I was still here," Stiles said, shrugging. "Then I'd claim it on hibernating. And by the way, I'm stealing your thumb-hole jumper this winter."

"You said that last winter, and then you made me wear it all the time."

"Yeah, well you look fucking gorgeous in it; I'm still torn between wanting to wear it myself, and wanting you to wear it all the time."

"I'll buy you your own, how about that?" Derek offered.

"Oh, I knew I loved you for a reason. I made fresh lemonade; can you bring me a glass when you come back? I've got Mario Kart set up already."

"Get your own lemonade," Derek said, throwing his sweaty towel at Stiles' head as he headed to the bathroom.

"Can't; I'm going to be busy jerking off with your towel now," Stiles called with a grin.

(Derek brought him the lemonade.)

Later, after Stiles kicked Derek's ass at Mario Kart ( _Princess Peach rules, Der, you should know that by now_ ), and they'd reciprocated blow jobs, Derek was lying on the couch with Stiles on top of his chest, carding his fingers through Stiles' hair. They were both sweaty again, but neither one wanted to get up to turn the air conditioner on.

"Hey Stiles?"

"Mmm?"

"Thanks for moving in with me."

"Any time. Thanks for not kicking me out," Stiles said with a grin.

"Haven't kicked you out before, not going to start now," Derek muttered, pulling Stiles up to kiss him firmly.

Stiles sighed happily against him and kissed him back. They stayed that way for another ten minutes before Stiles complained that the heat was too much, and got up to turn the air con on after all.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading!


	32. Shoat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek gets a pet, and it's not what Stiles ever expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to point out that the English language is insane. The word 'shoat' has two meanings: the first is a young, weaned pig; the second is a geep (cross between a goat and a sheep). Because **that's** not confusing!

"Derek? Why do you have a pig in your loft?" Stiles called, closing the loft door firmly before the young pig could escape. "Are you planning on eating it on the next full moon? 'Cause I'm taking it away from you if that's the case,  _you monster!_ " he added, grinning as he imitated the gingerbread man from Shrek.

"There's farm land out at my house, I've decided to actually put it to use. Since everyone can control themselves on the full moon now, it should survive."

"I'm being put on pig guarding duty, aren't I?" Stiles asked with a heavy sigh. "So, what's it's name?"

"What? The pig?" Derek asked, finally coming downstairs, frowning at Stiles.

"Yeah, the living creature that's in your home; what have you called it?"

It was obvious that Derek hadn't named it, or even thought to call it anything, and Stiles shook his head.  _Of course_  Derek hasn't named his first official pet anything. (And seriously, why a pig?)

"Shoat," Derek said eventually, shrugging.

"You named your pig Pig?" Stiles deadpanned.

"You - and Lydia - are the only two that would know that, so yes. Now, can you help me take Shoat to the property or not?"

"Tell me why you have a pig in the first place, Derek. I mean, I'd get a dog, a cat, maybe even an iguana, but a  _pig?_  Really?"

Derek sighed, looking down at the small creature that was snuffling against his ankles. "She fell out of one of the animal transportation trucks; obviously too small to be held in properly. I found her wandering on the side of the road, and it was either take her home with me or to the butcher."

By the stern set of his jaw, and the folded arms over his chest, it was obvious that Derek wasn't going to take Shoat to the butcher any time soon. Not that Stiles would have made him do that anyway.

"Fine. You drive; I'll research how to actually look after a pig. C'mon, Shoat, you little cutie, your daddy's going to show you your new home," Stiles called, and Shoat made another snuffling noise, following after him obediently. "Thank god you don't have to train her.  _How to train your pig_ ; probably  _not_  a box office sensation."

Derek snorted his laughter and followed Stiles out, scooping up the small pig and cradling her against his chest. He didn't want her to get tired before they even arrived to his house. Shoat made a soft noise and actually snuggled in closer. (Stiles took a photo before Derek could protest and immediately saved it as his phone's wallpaper.)

Derek drove to his old property while Stiles kept an eye on Shoat and called out random pig facts he found online.

"Pigs can be trained like dogs can, and they even sleep indoors. Aww, look at this little pig in a nest of blankets! It's so  _cute!_  We  _have_  to stop at a pet store to buy some things for Shoat! Right now." Stiles demanded.

Derek couldn't say no, and soon discovered that 'some things' turned very quickly into 'the whole damn store'. Derek found himself taking out the cat scratching post from the basket, raising his eyebrow at Stiles' sheepish expression.

"I thought it looked useful? Never mind, look at this fluffy bed! It's so soft and fluffy, Shoat's gonna love it!"

Shoat did love it, and Stiles took close to a hundred photos of her sleeping in her brand new bed. Derek couldn't bring himself to stop Stiles from taking photos, and handed him his own phone as well. Stiles brightened at the offered phone and took lots of photos, telling him that he was sending a bunch to Cora and Peter. And then everyone else they knew, including Chris.

Everyone took to Shoat immediately, even the Sheriff, and Stiles was surprised to come home later that night to find the bacon in the bin. They didn't discuss it, but it wasn't difficult to start getting his father to eat fewer pig-related products after he met Shoat.

Stiles was put on pig guarding duty for the first full moon, as he had predicted. The werewolves didn't even come near the mountain ash barrier he'd made. Stiles played Queen on his laptop (even Derek could see that Shoat actually liked the music, almost as much as she liked Stiles' belly rubs), and Shoat slept through the night on her bed peacefully without a single worry.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading.

*waves pennant for Shoat the pig*


	33. Hypocorism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles wants Derek's attention, but Derek's reading.

"Oh,  _Derek_ ," Stiles sing-songed as he entered their bedroom.

Derek raised an eyebrow in question, but didn't look away from his book.

"I'm not having a conversation with your eyebrows, Der-bear. C'mon, look up."

The hypocorism made him wince, and Derek refused to look up out of pure spite.

"Derek - Derek - Derek - Derek - Derek - Derek. Dude, I haven't taken my Adderall today, I can do this for  _hours_ ," Stiles pointed out. "Derek - Derek - Derek - Derek - "

"What?!" he snapped, finally looking up.

His annoyance faded immediately on seeing Stiles wearing nothing but a pair of lacy blue knickers.

"Why are you wearing those?" Derek asked, mouth dry. He tried to remember if they had an anniversary or special occasion to warrant the lace and came up blank. (Another part of Derek came up  _hard_ , but with Stiles in lacy underwear, could you blame him?)

"'Cause the blue's pretty," Stiles said. "Now, are you going to read your book, or fuck me?"

Derek had forgotten about his book the moment he'd looked up, and set it aside now, pulling Stiles onto the bed with him.

"Wise decision, Der-bear," Stiles murmured against his lips, grinning broadly.

Derek agreed completely.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading!


	34. Writhen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and tree roots do not go well together.

Writhen roots twisted their way out of the ground, making them perfect for Stiles to trip over and fall flat on his face. Sure, the trees looked pretty and kinda supernatural all twirled up like that, but for every day running for your life? _They totally sucked_.

"Don’t say a thing, Derek," Stiles grumbled, brushing the leaves and dirt off his body.

Derek just smirked and offered Stiles his hand to help him up. Grinning up at him brightly, he took the offered hand, Derek pulling him to his feet with no effort at all. Stiles wasn’t expecting to be lifted quite that easily (c’mon, he’d bulked up over summer, dammit!), and windmilled his arms, careening into Derek and knocking them both over.

"If you wanted to top, you just had to ask," Derek snickered.

Stiles’ eyes widened and he licked his lips quickly. “Yes. Let’s do that. Right now. Or somewhere with less leaves and twigs,” he amended.

"What about the hag?"

"Scott ‘n the others will deal with her; they already said as much. Come on, sex. Now," Stiles said, getting up and tugging Derek to his feet.

They both knew that Derek could have resisted him easily, but he let Stiles lead him back to the car without protest. Stiles decided that those twisted trees weren’t so bad after all.

…

The end.

Thanks for reading!


	35. Hemidemisemiquaver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No. Just no.

**No.**   _Screw you_ , English language! I refuse to write that word, let alone play the note itself. Look at that thing! There's more vowels than ... normal letters, and just  **no.**

How the hell do you pronounce it?! Much less with a British accent?!?! Is it he-mid-emi-semi-quaver? Or hem-idem-i-semi-quaver? Or something else entirely? Do you just carry around those little computerised dictionaries that pronounce words for you? Did it blow up on trying to pronounce this monstrous word? 'Cause I'd believe it. I want to blow up trying to pronounce that word.

And it means a sixty-fourth note, at that? What sort of instrument/music uses that note, anyway? I pity the poor person that actually does have to play this note! Thank god I don't play the piano anymore. Because 1) the piano teacher was a crotchety old grouch who thought it was okay to whack kids on the back of their hands with rulers if they played Mozart a little faster than intended, or Chopsticks ten times in a row, and 2) because ... well, see 1) - she really was a bitch - and 3) because I don't have to play ridiculous notes like this stupid hemidemisemiquaver.

...

"And, just warning you, that's probably why I failed music class this semester. And possibly one of the reasons why I'm no longer allowed within ten metres of Ms. Merlos anymore. Oh, and that's why there's a message on the answering machine from the principal. Apparently I used the phrase 'blow up' one too many times," Stiles added, wincing when he saw that his father was just staring at him in shock.

John rubbed his temples, then the bridge of his nose, and returned to his temples when it seemed like the headache just wouldn't budge.

"Fine, I'll deal with the school tomorrow. And Stiles?" he added before his son could escape upstairs to do his homework or, more likely, help the pack by researching the latest monster to grace Beacon Hills. "How do you pronounce that word anyway?" John asked, frowning.

"Fucked if I know," Stiles muttered, shaking his head.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously though, screw that word. This is worse than shoat.
> 
> (It's pronounced hemi-demi-semi-quaver, apparently.)
> 
> *Gives up on the English language entirely*


	36. Lambent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek's human and hungover. Stiles is human and not as hungover as his former-werewolf boyfriend.

Stiles woke up with a groan, shielding his eyes from the lambent light that flooded through the open curtains. His head wasn't pounding, which was somewhat of a surprise (not too short of a miracle), considering the amount of alcohol he'd drunk last night.

"Close the blind, it hurts," Derek moaned beside him, burying his head in his pillow.

"How's your first hangover, sour-human?" Stiles asked with a snort, moving to sit up, and  _whoa_ , that was a mistake.

His head might not be pounding, but apparently it was swimming and with the room spinning, that's  _way_  too much motion for Stiles. He flops back onto the bed, burrows his body in against Derek's and bites his bicep playfully, trying to get underneath his arm properly. Derek lifts his arm obligingly, Stiles darts in, and settles under his warmth and weight with a small sigh.

"Seriously, though, you feeling okay?" Stiles murmured against the pillow.

"Mmm. Alcohol's awful. Nothing short of being bashed over the head with a baseball bat should make me feel like this. Even electrocution didn't hurt this bad," Derek whined.

"Now you're just lying. Come on, water, juice, Advil, and a bowl of fried eggs and rice to soak up the rest of the booze. We'll be fine in an hour."

"Too long to wait. Sleep more instead," Derek muttered in return, his arm tightening around Stiles' waist.

"That sounds good too," Stiles agreed, turning his head to press a kiss to Derek's jawline.

Derek is obviously still too hungover to respond with more than a small sigh of content, and Stiles settles down to go back to sleep.

"It's not so bad, is it?" Stiles asked a few moments later, knowing Derek wasn't asleep yet.

"What?"

"Being human," he said, cheeks heated and Stiles isn't even sure why the answer's so important to him, but it is.

Derek lifted his head briefly to look at Stiles, taking in the stubble burn on Stiles' cheek, the marks of the pillow against his forehead, the dots of moles along his cheek, and the hot blush across his face.

"Not bad at all," he murmured, kissing him firmly and then dropping back on to the pillow once more.

Stiles grinned brightly, feeling ridiculously pleased, and closed his eyes to sleep again.

"Stiles?"

"Yeah, Derek?"

"Close the curtain?"

Stiles groaned, but he did as Derek asked, if only for the fact that he'd never sound so pitiful, weak, and human before.

An hour later, Derek sounded anything  _but_  pitiful, weak, or human when he roared at the construction workers down the street for using the jackhammer so early in the goddamn morning. Stiles held back his laugh as the workers hurled abuse right back at him, and quickly pulled Derek back in from the window before he got shot by a nail gun.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading!


	37. Camelopard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is surprised that Derek's never been to the zoo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Camelopard is an archaic term for a giraffe.

"You've never been to the zoo?" Stiles asked, jaw hanging open as he stared at Derek.

"Spending a day looking at animals in cages doesn't really appeal to me," he replied, tone clipped and short.

"Yeah, I know, it sucks mostly. But, dude, it's  _the zoo_."

"Repeating that isn't going to make me want to go anymore than I already don't want to. Can we get back to researching now?" Derek asked with a sigh, returning his attention to the large book in front of him.

"Would you want to go if it was one of those open plain zoos? Y'know, where the animals are all allowed to roam freely and stuff?"

"No, Stiles, not even then. I don't go to zoos, or circuses, or any other form of supposed entertainment where animals are captured and caged or used as forms of entertainment. Even wildlife preserves set me on edge, okay? So, listen carefully, and I can repeat it in Spanish if you need:  **no**."

Stiles fell quiet, but Derek doubted it was the end of the discussion.

"But where else are you going to see lions and tigers and camelopards?" Stiles pointed out a few minutes later.

"On the television, computer, or in books. There's these things called  _pictures_..."

"Oh, sourwolf's being a sarcastic-wolf now, is he? Does that mean you'll stop rolling your eyes at me when  _I'm_  sarcastic? Or is this a one-time thing only? What about on special occasions? Or my birthday? I can handle the eye-rolling, obviously, but my birthday should be cause for celebration and no eye-rolling, and -  _mmphh_."

Stiles' monologue was cut off abruptly by Derek's hand and they glared at each other. Then Stiles' eyes lit up wickedly and he worked his tongue out of his mouth, licking Derek's palm in an effort to get him to let go. It didn't work - Laura had used the same tactic when they were younger (and older) - and Derek just raised an eyebrow at him. Stiles seemed to frown, and then resumed glaring once more. It took them both a few minutes to realise that Stiles still had his tongue pressed against Derek's hand, and Stiles withdrew sharply, trying to pull away. Derek held him, looking at him seriously.

"You'll shut up about the zoo now?"

Stiles nodded awkwardly.

"And the eye-rolling thing too?"

Again, another awkward nod.

Derek waited a moment later, listening for a skip in his pulse, but Stiles' heart was hammering so hard and fast it was difficult to tell. Reluctantly, he let go of Stiles' mouth, and watched as Stiles immediately licked his lips.

"So... What about  _Cirque de Soleil?_  They're an all-human circus, no animals in sight - unless they're actually were-somethings, which might explain a few things, really. They're actually coming to Beacon Hills next month, and if you say no, then I'll have to think of something else to entice you with."

Derek looked at Stiles again, frowning. "Entice me?"

"Yeah, on a date. I've been trying to suggest places for weeks, but you keep shooting me down. The zoo was last-ditch and tacky, I know, but you blew off the suggestion to see Guardians of the Galaxy at the movies. That was the one I was really hoping you'd say yes to, mostly 'cause I've already seen it three times and I planned on making out with you in the back," Stiles said with a brief chuckle, cheeks pink.

Derek blinked, surprised. "You want to go on a date with me," he said slowly, trying to wrap his head around this.

"Uh,  _yeah_. It's not like I've been exactly subtle about this! You're smart and like comics - sure, you like Marvel more than DC, but I can forgive that - and you're attractive, which is a nice bonus for me, even though you'd be stuck with me, and you actually listen to me, even when I'm rambling on about crap and should really shut up. Like now, oh, fuck, I should've shut up like five minutes ago, and you're still here and haven't run away, so you're either in shock or aren't adverse to the idea of dating me," Stiles said weakly, trailing off and looking down nervously.

"You wanted to go to the movies just to make out with me?" Derek asked. "Why bother paying all that money to go to the movies when we could do the same thing here?"

"Seriously? That's what you get from that?" Stiles muttered, then blinked as he caught up to Derek's second sentence, and looked up at him, ridiculously hopeful. "You mean that? We can make out here? Or you're just saying an example of how it'd be a waste of money? 'Cause if you do mean it, then I'd really like to know because I'm sweating like crazy and probably smell worse than the entire movie theatre would to you, and - "

This time Derek shut him up with his mouth. Stiles might've done a fist pump in celebration before wrapping his arms around Derek's neck and throwing himself into the kiss full-heartedly.

They went to the  _Cirque de Soleil_  the next month, and for their second anniversary, Stiles bought Derek an entire set of plush safari animals from the toy store and set the loft up to look like a safari, complete with a red-stained zebra and lions. (Derek saw the same colouring on Stiles' hand and spent a few hours rediscovering his taste for strawberry jam.)

...

The end.

Thanks for reading!


	38. Juvenescent

After almost eight years of college and working and being by themselves in the big ol’ world, the pack are finally returning to Beacon Hills at the same time. Stiles is almost vibrating with excitement, even though he caught up with his dad on Skype just last weekend, Scott and Kira last week, Lydia and Allison a few weeks ago along with Erica and Boyd, and Jackson and Isaac last month. Hell, he’s even Skyped Derek three times this year, which is an achievement in and of itself. But still, there’s nothing like seeing them all in person, and his leg is jittering as he settles down on the plane seat for the two hour flight from Oregon to California. At least he’s not flying in from Europe like Jackson and Isaac; he doesn’t envy them that flight at all.

Stiles grinned broadly when he saw his father and Melissa waiting at the airport terminal for him, a glitter-covered sign held between them that was obviously something that Holly had to have made. His little sister was standing between her parents legs, looking much taller than he remembered her being last year, and as soon as she saw Stiles, Holly ran over to hug him. He laughed and lifted her up into his arms, trying to keep the noise of surprise at her weight to a minimum. Stiles grinned at his sister, pressing his forehead against hers.

"Hey, Holls. Miss me?"

"Missed you," she agreed, fingers holding onto the collar of his plaid shirt. "Miss me?" Holly mumbled, her voice muffled by his neck.

"Missed you big time, Holls. Is that sign for me?" he asked, tucking his chin over her shoulder to look at the glittery sign.

"Yep. Made it. Pops helped."

John grinned and held up sparkly hands as proof. “Can’t get the darn stuff off,” he admitted, moving over to hug Stiles around his daughter.

"It didn’t help that they were using glitter glue with extra glitter. Don’t be surprised if the glitter’s somehow managed to migrate to your bedroom, Stiles," Melissa said with a smile and shake of her head.

"Glitter, not fairies, got it."

John raised an eyebrow at him pointedly. “Should I be worried about fairies?”

"Uh. No? How about we leave it ‘til later?" Stiles suggested, jiggling Holly in his arms so he could hold her better.

"Oh god, there’s fairies, isn’t there?"

"John, help Stiles with his bag. I’ll call Derek to bring the car around," Melissa said, patting her husband’s arm lightly.

"Derek? He’s here?"

"Couldn’t keep him away," John admitted and winked.

Stiles winced because,  _seriously Dad?_ , and hoped he wasn’t going pink. Holly tightened her hold around his neck - apparently she’d missed him more than he’d thought, or maybe she was just tired - and Stiles carried her out of the airport, following his dad and Melissa. They asked about his Masters in Folklore, and Stiles allowed himself to be distracted, telling them how he was focusing his thesis on werewolves in different cultures across the world. By the time they made it out of the busy airport, he’d somehow shifted the conversation to wolf mating habits, and of course, that’s when Derek pulled up in the Toyota.

"Really, Stiles, wolf mating habits?" Derek asked, getting out to help with the bags as John and Melissa took Holly from Stiles and settled her in the backseat.

"It was relevant to the conversation, shut up. And hello to you too, sourwolf."

"Hello," Derek said, tugging Stiles close and hugging him.

"Hey," Stiles murmured, wrapping his arms around Derek firmly. "You haven’t aged a day, I swear. How the hell do you look so juvenescent? I feel like I’m a billion years old compared to you! Is it a werewolf thing, or a  _you_  thing? What moisturiser are you using?” he muttered, pulling away to press Derek’s cheeks.

"The one you bought me last Christmas. You don’t look a billion years old," Derek added, burying his face against Stiles’ neck and breathing his scent in, stale and aeroplane-tainted as it was.

Yeah, okay, the scenting thing was something that Stiles seriously missed. He closed his eyes, breathing in Derek’s scent, a little musky from being in the car with his family for the past three hours, but still him. God, he’d missed Derek so much.

"You have to come up to me more often."

"Twice a month not enough?"

"Never," Stiles breathed, peppering light kisses to his neck.

"Should I drive home and come back for you two tomorrow?" John called to them from the driver’s seat, grinning.

"Leave them alone, John. It’s probably the only time they’ll have together until the rest of the pack arrive," Melissa said.

"Fuck, I hope not," Stiles groaned. "C’mon, backseat with me, and we’ll make out when Holly’s asleep."

"We’re not making out next to your sister, Stiles," Derek said, sighing fondly, opening the door and letting Stiles slide in.

"Darn right, you’re not," John muttered with a slight glare in the rear-view mirror.

"It’s a three hour drive to Beacon Hills. What else are we meant to do? I mean, I could probably go into much more detail about wolves’ mating habits if you’d like - "

Derek shut him up with his mouth, covering Holly’s eyes with a broad hand. She was already asleep and didn’t stir at the light contact. John didn’t say anything, but Melissa grinned at Stiles in the reflection of the passenger mirror.

 _It was good to be home_.

"Stiles? What’s this about fairies?" John asked, and against Derek’s lips, Stiles winced.

…

The end.

Thanks for reading!


	39. Quickhatch

"Stiles, there's a quickhatch in your backyard."

Stiles blinked, looking over at Lydia with a frown. "What?"

"Wolverine. Outside. Go talk to him, and I'll make sure your work's right," Lydia said, pursing her lips and holding her hand out for Stiles' work.

"Thanks, you're awesome," Stiles said, pressing his book into her hands, a kiss to her cheek and running downstairs.

Lydia heard a crashing sound and lifted her head from the book in slight concern.

"I'm okay! I'm fine!"

Shaking her head, Lydia returned to the book and left Stiles and Derek to whatever issue they needed to work out now.

...

"Dude, what's wrong?" Stiles asked, nervous because Derek had been silent for three whole minutes straight - he'd counted.

It was their anniversary tomorrow - two years, boo yeah! - and Derek had been suspiciously quiet for the whole week, which was weird enough because Stiles could usually get him talking after an hour or two of mindless chatter.

"You..." Derek clamped up quickly, running his hand through his hair roughly. "I want... I mean, it's not..."

"Seriously, Derek, you're freaking me out. Not even you have this bad a time with words. What's wrong? Are you breaking up with me?"

"No! No, not that. I... D'you want to move in with me?" Derek asked, looking nervous and actually wringing his hands together.

"R-really?" Stiles asked, for once feeling speechless.

"Yeah. I was going to ask tomorrow, for our anniversary. Thought it'd be romantic, but... we're not really like that, and then I just couldn't wait."

"You want me to move in right now?" Stiles asked, grinning a bit.

"Kind of."

"You're not moving out with work like this! Both of you get inside; Stiles, fix up your work; Derek, you can do his laundry so it's dry for when you move in together this weekend!" Lydia called from Stiles' bedroom, leaning out of his window and daring them to disagree.

"Uh, Lydia has spoken? And what's wrong with my work?"

"You gave this student a 9 out of 10 and they used the wrong  _there_. It's a 7 and a half at best!"

"They're  _eight year olds_ , Lydia!"

Derek grinned and pulled Stiles into a hug. "So, that's definitely a yes?"

Stiles turned in Derek's arms and kissed him firmly. "Yes, definitely yes."

Derek kissed him eagerly, Stiles kissing him in return, and Lydia grinned down at them and wolf-whistled.  _Scott owed her ten bucks._

...

The end.

Thanks for reading!


	40. Hierogram

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kids with knives + Beacon Hills = a bad day for Stiles.

Stiles opened the loft door with as much noise as he could possibly make. Considering he was human and he found it hard to open the door on a good day - and this definitely was **not** a good day - Stiles had to be satisfied with stomping his way through the loft instead. He left a trail of dirt, mud, gook and other unidentifiable gooey stuff behind him, but Stiles just could not give a fuck about the mess. _No fucks here, nope!_

"Why are you imitating an elephant... What happened to you?" Derek asked, eyebrows rising so far up his forehead that Stiles was sure they'd escape into his hair.

"The preserve is what happened to me. The stupid, scary, weird-ass forest that surrounds this stupider, scarier, weirder-asser town is what fucking happened!" Stiles yelled, a _little_ hysterically.

Derek's eyebrows lowered slightly. "Weirder-asser, really?"

"I'm so not in the mood for you _or_ your judgey eyebrows right now. I need a shower and to be in clothes that aren't covered in all _this_ ," Stiles groaned, stomping his way through the loft towards the bathroom.

Stiles finished his shower, he found a pile of clean clothes sitting out for him and changed into them with a small sigh of relief. His relief was short lived when he stepped out into the hallway to find a mop and bucket waiting.

"Seriously? You're making me clean up after the day I've had?" Stiles groaned.

"Tell me about it while you clean," Derek suggested from the kitchen.

Muttering under his breath, Stiles grabbed the mop, dunked it into the water, and started to clean the mess he'd made.

"Lacrosse practice was in the forest earlier this week and I noticed a symbol etched into a tree trunk. I figured it was kids playing with knives, that sort of thing. I saw another one spray painted on the back of a street sign along the edge of the forest, and then another on the 'welcome to Beacon Hills' sign. Found a fourth one on a different tree, so I decided to investigate it."

"By yourself?" Derek asked, sounding both incredulous and annoyed.

"Yes, I stupidly thought that after all this time, I would be fine on my own. Believe me, it won't happen again," Stiles called, shoving the mop against a stubborn spot of black goo.

"Anyway, I went into the forest and discovered it wasn't just a random symbol after all; it was a friggin' hierogram. And I was right about the kids with knives part, by the way. As it turns out, summoning a demon is serious business, and if you interrupt said serious business, things get messy, people start screaming, there's blood and goo flying everywhere, and then you find out that no one thought to find out if there's a way to reverse the demon summoning before trying it!"

"Are they still alive?"

"Unfortunately, yes. They're also in detention until they graduate, I'm getting the IT department to restrict their Internet access to school-related websites only, _and_ I've confiscated their library cards."

"They'll probably just get their friends to find more stuff for them, or find things online at home," Derek pointed out.

"I may have put a _small_ spell on the four of them after I banished the demon."

"What did you do?"

"Just something that makes their computers short out if they try accessing anything related to magic, demons, or the like."

Derek stepped out of the kitchen, frowning as he dried his hands on a tea towel. "That's a pretty complicated spell. How'd you get them to sit through it?"

"I didn't; I knocked them all out first."

"With a spell or your baseball bat?"

"Spell, but only because I didn't have my baseball bat nearby," Stiles admitted, and then he grinned at Derek broadly.

"What's that look for?"

"Next term I'm giving the class an assignment on Harry Potter. I hope they end up setting their computers on fire."

"You're terrible, Mr. Hale-Stilinski," Derek said with a snicker, moving to kiss Stiles' firmly.

"That's Principal Hale-Stilinski to you," Stiles replied against his lips, grinning.

... 


	41. Technophobia

"Look, dude, I get that you hate technology, but this is taking it too far!" Stiles says, staring at the brick phone in Derek's hand. He's not even exaggerating; the thing would look damn near futuristic in the original Terminator movie.

"It's a phone; it takes and receives calls, and that's all I need it to do! Besides, I don't _hate_ technology! I'm not a technophobe, and I know how to use a laptop or tablet or whatever else, I just think that some people spend way too much time attached to their phones instead of engaging with the people around them."

"Well, maybe the people around them should be making a better effort to be engaging!"

" _I'm trying_!"

"You're... _wait, what?_ "

Derek's ears go pink, and Stiles stares at that as much as the ancient brick he's still holding defensively. Derek doesn't reply.

"Did you buy that thing - or dig it up from a graveyard - so you could talk to _me?_ "

Derek still doesn't answer.

"Seriously, though? You got a brick phone from the _80's_ to talk to me?"

Derek's mouth goes from confused frown to stubborn line to smug smirk in a space of ten seconds. "It worked, didn't it?"

Stiles can't say anything to that.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading.


End file.
